


The Words Between Us

by lilbluednacer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fourth of July, Hurt/Comfort, I don’t even know anymore, McCall Pack, Mermaid Lydia, Mild Sexual Content, Okay maybe moderate sexual content, Panic Attacks, Sharing a Bed, Spells & Enchantments, Summer, Summer Romance, beach town au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2019-08-30 00:28:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 63,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: The girl is lying face down on the sand, her long wet hair tangled with weeds all the way down to her legs and glimmering silvery scales stuck to the bottoms of her feet.Of course Stiles would manage to accidentally stumble upon a mermaid the first week of summer vacation.





	1. stranger in a strange land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I know what you want, said the sea witch. It is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, and it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess.'  
>  _\- Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

The sand shifts under Stiles’ feet as he ambles down the beach, hands in the pockets of his red hoodie. It's dark out except for the glow of the moon hanging in the sky and in the distance, the lights from the Whittemore’s beach house set up high on a bluff to his left. He's just drunk enough to feel melancholy, and vaguely lonely, and annoyed at himself for feeling that way, a strange persistent ache throbbing under his breastbone like there's a string tied around his heart, tugging at it.

“Don't worry,” Allison had said earlier that night while sipping a beer on the back deck with him after everyone else went to bed, because when you're the only two humans around alcohol becomes a special kind of bond. “It's only the first week of summer, you’ll have plenty of time to find someone to keep you company. Besides, Danny and Isaac get here next week, that should make it easier, right?”

He'd kissed her cheek and told her he was going for a walk, and Allison had smiled ruefully before going back inside. He and Heather had still been together when they'd planned out their summer vacation, convinced all their various parents and most importantly, Allison's dad, who owns the house, to let them spend the summer here, an hour south of Beacon Hills, right on the beach. They're going to be college seniors next year, this might be their last real summer to all be together. He's still happy to be here of course but he hadn't planned on being single and he can't deny that it stings a little.

He weaves in and out of the tide as he walks, his feet sinking into damp sand. Up ahead a large piece of driftwood has washed up near the edge of the water and Stiles starts walking to the left so he can go around it but then it _moves_ , rippling against the sand, and he stops, pressing his palms into his eyes for a moment before blinking hard because he's tipsy but he's not seriously drunk and he's seen a lot of crazy shit since the night Scott got bit but he's never seen a piece of wood spontaneously move on it's own.

He blinks again against the dark, internal alarms in his head going off like flashing warning signs. He pulls out his phone from his back pocket, turns on the flashlight and points it across the sand, almost dropping it in shock when the light hits the driftwood, because it isn't a hunk of wood at all.

It's a body.

Stiles runs down the beach, kicking up wet sand until he skids to a stop, gaping at the body at his feet: it's a girl, lying face down in the sand, completely naked, with long wet hair tangled with weeds all the way down to her legs and glimmering silvery scales stuck to the bottoms of her feet, a stray few climbing up her ankles and calves.

Scales like a _fish_.

A hysterical bubble of laughter works its way up his throat because of course this kind of shit would happen to him, of course he would manage to accidentally stumble upon a mermaid the first week of summer vacation.

Adrenaline kicks in when he realizes she isn't moving, her back disconcertingly still like she isn't breathing at all and he drops to his knees, drags back waterlogged clumps of hair to find her shoulder, her skin icy cold to the touch, and starts to roll her onto her side. For one awful moment he thinks she's dead but then she seizes up, her eyes rolling back in her head as she makes a horrible gagging sound, retching, and then an ocean of water floods from her mouth. Stiles holds her still as her body arches and heaves until she collapses onto her back and passes right out.

“Oh my god,” he says stupidly, under his breath. “Oh my _god_.”

He stares down at her, cataloging her features: closed eyes with thick curling lashes crusted over with ocean salt and rosebud lips coated in sand, her skin much too pale and yet she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, fine boned and ethereal, stunning him into stillness for a moment before he realizes she clearly almost just drowned and he snaps into action.

He yanks off his hoodie and wraps it around her torso before sliding his hands under her shoulders and pulling her up against him. He gets one arm under her knees and manages to stand up, hiking her up in his arms so he can hold her against his chest, her head flopping back against his shoulder. She makes a terrible quiet keening noise, her eyes still shut, and Stiles winces as he starts to walk, listening to the wet rattling sound of the girl breathing.

When he gets close to the house he calls out for Scott and by the time he makes it to the fire pit Scott is bounding out the sliding glass back doors and onto the deck. When he sees Stiles he vaults right over the railing, lands crouched in the sand and leaps back up to run over to them, arms outstretched.

“What happened?” Scott shouts frantically, reaching out to take the girl from Stiles. Scott’s nose wrinkles and he stares down at her, suddenly looking panicked. “Stiles, what, I don't - what's going on?”

“I don't know.” Stiles runs one shaking hand down his face. “I found her down on the beach. Just, just _lying_ there.”

“By herself? Like this?!”

Stiles shrugs, exasperated. “No Scott, I went fishing and caught her with my bare hands, yes I found her by herself, I thought - Jesus, I thought she was dead!”

“Um, Stiles… don't freak out but um.” Scott's nose wrinkles up again, like he's smelling something Stiles can't. “I don't think she's human.”

“Yeah no shit Scott, look at her feet!”

Scott's mouth drops open as he examines the girl’s legs, where metallic silvery scales are peeling off her shins and falling into the sand like flakes of snow, leaving raw red skin behind. “No way. No _way!_ ”

“I know,” Stiles says, unable to keep the hysteria out of his voice. “I found a freaking mermaid!”

“But - but she has legs! If she's a mermaid then where's her _tail?_ Where’d you find her?”

“She was just lying there on the sand down by the Whittemore’s.” Stiles scrubs a hand over his face. “I think she almost drowned, she coughed up a lot of water.”

“How could she drown if she's a mermaid?”

“How should I know? It's not like I'm a freaking expert!”

“Okay, okay.” Scott stares down at the girl and looks back at the house. “We can't take her inside like this, she's covered in sand.”

They take the cobblestone path across the sand and walk around the side of the porch where there's an outdoor shower. Stiles unlatches the wooden door and kicks it open lightly with his foot. “One of us is going to have to hold her up.”

“Stiles - she's _naked,_ ” Scott says in a hushed voice.

Stiles rolls his eyes and whips off his shirt before shucking off his jeans. “Grow up dude, emergency circumstances, here, I'll do it.” 

Scott sighs and carefully transfers the girl back into Stiles’ arms, unwinding the sweatshirt and folding it up so her naked body is cradled against Stiles’ chest. He looks down at her face, grains of sand are clumped around her hairline and her skin is icy cold against his. He walks into the shower with her in his arms while Scott runs back inside the house to get towels. Stiles shifts the girl so she's upright, trying very hard to ignore the fact that her bare chest is pressed right up against his, her toes dangling above the rough concrete floor, and reaches back to turn the water on.

It comes out cold and Stiles yelps as he turns the dial; the girl's face gets hit by the spray and she coughs, her eyes flying open before they widen dramatically. She makes an airless shrieking sound and shoves at him, his hands are slick on her wet skin and they slip enough for her to slide backwards out of his grasp. Her feet touch the floor and Stiles watches in horror as her face contorts, she lets out a raspy scream and falls to the ground, reaching down to clutch at her feet.

Stiles sinks to his knees and reaches for her but she slides back on the floor to cower against one wall, curling her arms across her chest, her legs prone and bent at the knees, mouth open as she weeps silently, so vulnerably naked and small that it makes his chest hurt. He crouches down low next to her, boxing her in against the wall of the shower, and holds his hands out to her like he would a wounded animal.

“It's okay,” he says in a low voice. “You're okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”

She blinks heavily at him, her small body shivering on the wet floor. He gets a little closer and when she doesn't panic he reaches out and touches her shoulder. She crumples under his hand, her eyes squeeze shut and he can't tell if the beads of water scattered across her face are from the shower or her tears but her whole body shakes, he makes low shushing noises and when she doesn't shy away he pulls her up so she's sitting against the wall next to him.

Stiles wraps his arms around her, turning her slightly so she's facing the spray of the water and she makes that strange noise again, a high pitched keening sound that makes his teeth clench, but then she relaxes into him, shivering, legs kicked out in front of her, her crazy-long hair tangled around her thighs as the water beats down on her. He rubs his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to generate some heat as she turns her head into his chest, eyes half open, looking dazed but slightly less terrified.

“There you go,” he says quietly, watching water sluice off sand and bits of moss and weeds from her skin, not caring that his boxers are getting soaked. “It's okay, everything's going to be okay.”

Stiles glances down at her face again and realizes in surprise that she's staring at him, big eyes that in the dim light look dark and stormy like the ocean at night.

“What happened to you?” he murmurs, but she either doesn't understand him or she can't speak because she just blinks glassy eyes at him. 

“Stiles.” Scott knocks on the door. “Are you okay? I thought I heard a scream.”

“Yeah, we're fine, you got towels?”

“Yeah.” Scott swings the door open and crouches down in front of the entrance of the shower, looking concerned. “Is she bleeding? I smell blood, I think she's bleeding.”

Stiles looks down at the water, his stomach tightening when he sees the dark swirls in the water around her legs. “It must be her feet, she screamed when they touched the ground. Maybe they're not totally... feet yet.”

The girl looks back and forth between Stiles and Scott, apprehension crossing over her face. Scott sighs and folds a towel over the wet floor before kneeling down on it in front of her. “I'm gonna check them out. Has she said anything yet?”

“Nothing. I'm not sure she speaks, or maybe she has that thing, you know, when people go through a trauma and stop talking, selective mutism. Or maybe she just doesn't understand us, maybe she only speaks mermaid. Mermish. Mer - anyway, no, nothing.”

“I don't think that's a thing,” Scott says doubtfully. “She's basically human, wouldn't she speak English? Like, if she can even speak?”

“How would we know?” Stiles points out. “Up until fifteen minutes ago I didn't even know mermaids were a thing.”

“Well, we don't really _know_ she's a mermaid.”

“Well if she's not a mermaid, what is she? Were-fish?”

“I don't think that's a thing either.” Scott tilts his head. “Is she gonna freak out if I touch her?”

Stiles looks down at the girl's legs, there are nasty red patches on her skin where her scales have peeled off. “Maybe try to be quick about it.”

“Okay.” Scott leans forward and reaches out to grasp the girl's ankle. She goes rigid in Stiles’ arms, twisting away from Scott but he doesn't let her go as Scott examines the bottom of her foot. “Oh no, her - scales or, or _tail_ , I don't know, it's all peeling off and the skin underneath is really raw, it's all bloody, no wonder she screamed. This is bad, I'm gonna have to wash her feet and wrap them or something, she could get an infection. I don't… we don't know if she can heal.”

Stiles leans over to grab the biodegradable liquid soap and passes the bottle to Scott, who takes a clean towel and gets it wet before pouring soap onto it and glancing up at Stiles. “Ready?”

Stiles tightens his arms around the girl. “Yeah.”

Scott picks up the girl's foot and pulls it towards him, ignoring her sharp inhale. “I'm going to clean your feet now,” he announces in a soft voice, and presses the towel to her heel. 

She jerks in Stiles’ hold, her mouth opening in a silent scream. He tightens his arms around her, holding her twisting body against him as she tries to escapes Scott's hands. She slaps uselessly at Stiles’ arms and he winces, watching as Scott quickly scrubs her feet, dark blood and sparkly scales sticking to the towel.

“I'm sorry,” Stiles apologizes to her as she fights weakly against him, hoping she'll understand his tone if not his words. “We're just trying to help you, I'm sorry.”

“Finished!” Scott announces, holding the towel up before tossing it out of the shower. “I can bandage them inside.”

She goes limp when Scott moves away, Stiles manages to awkwardly drag her up his body so he can pick her up. She's shivering again, her body soaking wet and cold against his own bare skin; Stiles carries her out of the shower while Scott scoops up the towels, glancing back worriedly at them before stepping onto the cobblestones to go inside the house.

He follows Scott down the walkway, leaving wet footprints across the stairs and the deck as they go in through the sliding glass doors into the huge open concept living room and kitchen. Scott spreads a towel over one corner of the large cream colored sectional couch and Stiles sets the girl down on it, takes another dry towel from the stack Scott brought in and spreads it over her like a blanket.

She looks at him with huge eyes shimmering with tears and he can see now in the soft light from the lamp sitting on the side table that they're actually a deep green. Her skin is ivory colored, so luminous it seems lit from within, and her drenched hair is a deep auburn, stark against the lightness of her skin and the couch.

Scott clears his throat. “I'm going to get the first aid kit.”

Stiles nods, rubbing his wet feet off with a towel so he doesn't track water all over the floor. “Okay, uh, can you keep an eye on her for a minute though? I'm gonna change real quick, not really a fan of sitting in wet boxers.”

Scott glances up from across the room, where he's digging through the bottom drawer of the kitchen island, and then at the girl, who's shivering under the towel while taking in the house, her eyes darting around frenetically. “Hurry up,” Scott says tightly.

Stiles rolls his eyes as he walks away, taking the hallway off the living room that leads to all the bedrooms. His room is the first one on the right, alongside the back wall of the house, facing the ocean. He peels off his wet boxer briefs and tosses them in the hamper, walks over to the dresser that's pushed against the wall opposite the full sized bed and pulls out a dry pair of boxers, sweatpants, and an old Beacon Hills Cyclones tee shirt. He jumps into the clean clothes and rushes back to the living room, shaking water out of his hair.

The girl is sitting on the couch right where he left her, her eyes following him and Scott as they approach. Stiles sits down next to her on the couch, careful to leave a bit of space between them, and Scott perches on the edge of the oak carved coffee table. He pops open the white and red first aid kit and pulls out gauze, antibacterial ointment, and medical tape. He lays everything out on the table and looks at the girl, who's staring down at the bandages and shivering under the towel.

“I need to wrap your feet,” Scott tells her gently, gesturing to them.

The girl shakes her head wildly, curling up tighter into herself, her legs pulled in towards her chest with her feet dangling off the edge of the couch, and Stiles can't tell if she's afraid because she understands what Scott means or if she's just plain scared, period. He slides closer to her and touches her bare shoulder, wincing when she flinches and shies away.

“It won't hurt,” Stiles tells her, and raises a pointed eyebrow at Scott.

Scott's eyes widen and then he nods profusely, reaching his hands out so they're hovering above the tops of her feet. “Right. It won't hurt.”

Before she can pull away Scott snatches her by the ankles. She gasps and flails but then the breath gets punched out of her as thin black lines snake around from the bottoms of her feet up into Scott's hands. She slumps sideways into Stiles, a distant look of shocked awe on her face before her eyelashes flutter shut.

Scott exhales harshly as black lines crawl up his arms and disappear under the sleeves of his tee shirt. “She pass out?”

Stiles looks down at her face, lips chalky and parted, her head tipped back against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Probably for the best,” Scott says grimly, and stacks her feet on top of his quads.

Stiles watches Scott bandage up the girl's feet while she sleeps against him, making a strange wet rattling sound every time she exhales. When Scott's finished Stiles reaches behind himself and grabs a soft knit blanket folded over the back of the couch and carefully lays the girl down on the cushions, spreads the blanket over her body to cover her nakedness as he pulls the wet towels away and tosses them onto the pile on the floor. She coughs a little but doesn't wake, burrowing her face into a pale blue throw pillow.

Scott sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I'll call Deaton in the morning.”

“Okay.” Stiles yawns and stretches out on the other side of the couch. “You can go to bed if you want, I'll stay up with her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it's cool, hey, can you grab my laptop?”

Scott goes back to the kitchen to put the first aid kit away and picks up Stiles’ laptop where he left it charging on the kitchen island. He glances at the sleeping girl one more time and hands the computer to Stiles, who sets it in his lap and powers it on. Scott scoops up all the wet towels and locks the sliding glass door, turns off all the lights except for the seashell lamp on the end table.

“Don't stay up all night researching,” Scott advises.

Stiles already has Google open. “Uh huh.”

Scott sighs. “Seriously Stiles.”

“Shh. Sleeping mermaid here, Scott.”

“Okay, whatever then. See you in the morning.”

“Mmhm.” Stiles clicks on the Wikipedia link to the Hans Christian Andersen version of The Little Mermaid. “Night.”

He stays up for hours reading stories about mermaids, girls who trade their voices for human legs, girls who sell their souls for love, girls who live in agony every time they take a step because they've fallen in love with human men they've never even spoken to. He reads myths about sirens, sea creatures, gets lost in conspiracy theory rabbit holes about scientists in Atlantis who created half-breeds with alien technology, secret black ops groups doing experiments on humans, mixing their genes with fish DNA so they can breath underwater, rabbit DNA for super hearing. 

He finally sets his laptop on the coffee table when he starts to nod off while researching Russian folklore about rusalka, spirits of girls who died violently and lure men to watery deaths. He curls up into a corner of the couch, head on a throw pillow, falling asleep almost immediately only to jerk awake at the high pitched tortured sound of someone choking. The girl is thrashing around on the opposite end of the couch, her face very white, but before Stiles can lunge across the cushions to her she exhales loudly through her mouth and goes still again, asleep, the color flooding back into her face. He stretches over to her and holds his hand up to her face, relaxing when he feels a reassuring puff of air hit his palm. She doesn't make that sound again but it keeps him awake, afraid she'd going to stop breathing and suffocate in her sleep, which leads him to open his laptop back up and research dry drowning, just in case.

He's still up when the sun starts to rise, light flooding into the east-facing kitchen. He yawns and stretches, rubs at his eyes with his fingertips. The girl is still sleeping and now he can see that her hair is actually lighter than it looked last night, strawberry blond, tangled with knots all the way down to her knees. Her bandaged feet poke out from underneath the blanket, the gauze stained dark with blood, raw pink peeling skin crawling up her ankles and shins when she shifts and rolls over, face pressed into the back of the couch.

He gets up and stumbles across the living room to the kitchen, gets a pot of coffee going and pours himself a bowl of cereal. He eats standing up, leaning against the kitchen island so he can watch the mystery girl on the couch, too tired to think beyond vaguely wondering what the hell they're going to do with her. Things calmed down after they all went off to college and he can't really say he's missed the drama of dealing with a new supernatural creature every week, but there's something about this one that has him completely enthralled.

When he's finished eating he puts his bowl in the sink and pours himself a mug of coffee, the only way he's going to make it a few more hours on no sleep is to caffeinate the hell up. He sips it black as he wanders back towards the living room and sinks down on the edge of the couch just as the girl starts waking up.

He sets his mug down on the coffee table, watching as she shifts over onto her back, eyelashes fluttering a few times before her eyes open. She scrambles up to sit, her breath coming in short sharp gasps as she looks wildly around the room and then down at herself, her hands clutching the blanket over her chest. 

“Hey, hey, it's okay.” Stiles slides a little closer, trying to keep his voice low and calm. “You're okay, well, you hurt your feet but we took care of them, you were kind of passed out by then so you probably don't remember and waking up on a stranger’s couch is stressful in any situation, and this is kind of a unique situation, given how I found you and everything and that you're apparently, possibly, not totally human?”

She stares at him, wide-eyed, and if she didn't look so afraid she'd be beautiful - porcelain skin, full lips, hair a shimmering fiery red-gold.

“Can you talk?” he asks her. “Can you understand me?”

She blinks, once, and looks down at her feet, pulls her legs underneath the blanket so they're hidden before looking back at him. She blinks again and her hand go to her throat, fingers pressing under her jaw, but doesn't make any real discernible attempt to communicate.

“Okay.” Stiles pats his hand firmly over his chest. “I'm Stiles. Stiles. Last night I found you” - he points to her, and then behind himself at the sliding glass doors, where the ocean is distantly visible - “out on the beach. You were…” he tries to figure out how to mime ‘unconscious and almost drowned’ and then has to swallow a hysterical giggle when he realizes he's trying to play charades with a possible mermaid.

She's still looking at him, pretty green eyes hyper focused but he can't tell if she actually understands anything he's saying.

“You,” he says, and points to her again. “Who are you?”

She makes a strange breathy noise, almost like a whistle, and peels the edge of the blanket back to uncover her legs. All her scales are gone, some of the raw patches of skin are starting to scab over; in the morning light her pale skin is decorated with bruises and scratches like she got banged around pretty good and maybe she did, he thinks, remembering how much water had come out of her mouth last night when he found her, imaging someone as small as her getting pummeled by an ocean wave and spit up onto the shore.

If she was a mermaid wouldn't she be able to swim?

When she looks back up at Stiles she's crying, silent tears sliding down her cheeks, bent forward a little so her hands rest on her shins, clutching at them so hard her knuckles turn white. Stiles reaches out and when she doesn't move away he spreads his hands over hers. 

“Hey,” he says, gently stroking his fingers over the back of her hands in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “It's okay.”

“Hey guys.” Scott’s hovering at the edge of the living room, Allison standing behind him wearing one of Scott's old lacrosse jerseys like a dress. “How's she doing?”

Next to him the girl curls her legs up to her chest, glancing at Scott and Allison with wide suspicious eyes.

“Still not talking,” Stiles says. “Cause yet to be determined.”

“Deaton’s on his way,” Scott says, and squints his eyes at Stiles. “You totally stayed up all night, didn't you?”

Stiles leans his head back against the couch. “Maybe.”

“Dude.” Scott shakes his head and ambles into the kitchen.

Allison walks closer to them and perches on the arm of the couch, looking curiously at the girl. “Hi,” she says quietly, holding her hands palm up in her lap, non-threatening. “I'm Allison.”

Stiles watches, fascinated, as the girl slides closer to Allison and reaches one hand up. Allison looks surprised but holds very still as the girl closes her fingers around the silver arrow charm hanging from Allison's necklace.

“Oh,” Allison says. “This is jewelry. Do you like it?”

The girl strokes her fingers over the charm before pulling away, her eyes still on Allison's face, watching her carefully. Allison offers her a tentative smile and when the girl doesn't respond she frowns. “She really doesn't talk, huh?”

“Not a word,” Stiles confirms. 

Allison holds her hand out and when the girl doesn't move away she reaches out and pushes a tangled strawberry blond wave out of her face. “We're going to have to do something about all this hair.”

The girl sits very still, like she's afraid to move, and after a moment Allison pulls her hand away and shoots Stiles a weary look. “I'm gonna take the girls out to breakfast, get them out of your way while Deaton’s here.” She looks back at the girl, a tender expression coming over her face. “They're really curious, obviously, and Scott says she seems kind of - well, this is probably overwhelming enough as it is.”

Allison goes back to her room to get dressed and Scott walks in from the kitchen with a strawberry pop tart in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He sits down on the blue and cream printed loveseat, giving the girl a friendly smile when she stares at him. She doesn't smile back, still curled up in a corner of the couch, letting Scott observe her. 

Stiles reaches for his abandoned mug and takes a huge sip, cradling it in his palms. “Do you think she eats human food? She has to be hungry, right?”

Scott tilts his head and shrugs. “Probably. You think she can understand us?”

Stiles sighs. “I haven't come to a conclusion on that one.”

“If she does she's pretty good at playing dumb.” Scott takes a huge bite out of his pop tart.

“Maybe she doesn't trust us.”

“You saved her life!” Scott says indignantly. “She should at least trust you!”

The girl flinches at the change in Scott’s tone and pulls the blanket higher up on her chest. Stiles slides over to her, shooting Scott a warning glance. “It's okay,” he reassures her softly. “Everything's okay.”

The girl looks up at him, her lower lip trembling, and then very slowly leans sideways until she's close enough to rest her head against his shoulder. Stiles shoots Scott a shocked look and shifts so he can sling his arm over her shoulders, letting her turn her face in towards his chest. Something inside him clenches up, some wave of tenderness he never knew he was capable of feeling, remembering last night, sitting in the shower with her, holding her while she trembled and shook in the circle of his arms.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice. “You're okay. Everything's going to be okay.”

“We should give her some water at least,” Scott says quietly. He goes into the kitchen and fills up a glass, walks it back over to the couch and holds it out to the girl. “Here. This is for you.”

When she doesn't take it Stiles holds his mug out to Scott and they trade, Stiles takes the glass of water and holds it in front of her face. “Drink,” he says, tapping his lips and then pointing to her. “You drink.”

She gives him a hesitant look but bends her head down, darts her tongue out and laps it in the water before puckering her lips and trying to suck it into her mouth. 

“Oh man,” Scott says, sinking back down on the loveseat, looking half amused and half concerned.

Stiles pulls the glass away, catching her chin with two fingers when she lifts her head up. “Like this,” he says, and brings the glass to her parted lips.

He tips her head back by gently tilting her chin and lets a little water slide into her mouth. She splutters and swallows, coughs, and then reaches up with her hands to hold the glass, drinks and drinks until she's drained it.

“Okay,” Stiles says faintly. “That's good I think.”

Scott's staring at them, his pop tart forgotten. “I still can't believe you found a mermaid.”

Stiles takes the glass out of her hands and puts it down on the coffee table. “So much for a normal summer vacation.”

“It's us,” Scott says. “When is our life ever normal?”

Stiles looks down at the girl sitting next to him, her big green eyes darting between him and Scott, insanely long tangled hair like that girl in the story, the one about the princess who got locked in a tower, her delicate fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. He gently lays a hand on her shoulder and she makes a quiet sound in the back of her throat before leaning back into him a little and there it is again, that overwhelming instinct to protect her, care for this beautiful broken creature in front of him.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Fair point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this concept kicking around in my head for over a year and I finally had time to start working on it! This is inspired by both The Little Mermaid (the Hans Christian Andersen version 'cus I'm angsty) and September Girls by Bennet Madison.


	2. efforts in communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'You want to get rid of your fish’s tail, and to have two supports instead of it, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you'  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Deaton arrives at the house a few minutes after Allison leaves with the girls, hustling Malia and Kira out the front door so they can't linger too long to stare at the mute girl in the living room. Stiles stays on the couch with her while Scott lets Deaton in, leading him through the front hall and into the living room. Scott sits back down on the loveseat while Deaton comes closer to sit at the edge of the coffee table, watching the girl with a curious expression on his face as she gives him an apprehensive look before sliding a bit closer to Stiles and staring down at her lap, like all this attention is making her self conscious.

“Hello,” he says, addressing the girl directly. “My name is Dr. Deaton.”

She doesn't look back up at him but she goes still, like she's listening, shoulders hunched over slightly.

“She doesn't talk,” Stiles explains. “We're not sure she understands English.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Deaton says lightly, opening up his briefcase and pulling out a pair of rubber gloves. “Mermaids are a highly intelligent species, she probably speaks more languages than you do.”

Stiles glances sideways at her but she's stone faced, watching Deaton through the curtain of her tangled hair as he pulls on the gloves and slides closer to her. “If she can understand what we're saying she's doing a pretty good job of acting dumb,” he says, echoing Scott’s earlier sentiment.

She doesn't react to that either, face placid and unreadable, but her fingers are clutching the blanket where it's pulled up high to cover her chest.

“She's in a strange place, with strange people, you can't fault her for being naturally suspicious. She can't walk, she can't defend herself. Pretending not to understand while observing you and collecting information might be her only strategic option, considering her circumstances.” Deaton gives the girl a kind smile. “I'm going to examine you to make sure you're alright. Can you open your mouth for me please?”

The girl presses her lips together, all her body language blocked off - arms crossed over her chest, legs curled up tight under the blanket. Stiles sighs and nudges her, and when she looks at him he points to his mouth and opens it comically wide, then points to her.

“You,” he says. “You do it.”

She gives him a haughty look, like she thinks he's being ridiculous. Stiles does it again, and then points to her mouth. “C’mon, your turn.”

She exhales loudly and looks back at Deaton, rolls her eyes up to the ceiling like this is truly absurd but then she opens her mouth for him.

“Thank you,” Deaton says appreciatively, like she's done him a huge favor, and leans forward to peer into her mouth, his fingers peeling back her upper lip for a second to reveal her teeth. “Well she still has her tongue, that's a good sign.”

“What?” Scott gapes at him.

“In the story the witch cuts out her tongue,” Stiles explains. 

Scott wrinkles his forehead. “Huh? In The Little Mermaid? I don't remember that.”

“It's in the Hans Christian Andersen version. She has to let the witch cut out her tongue in exchange for turning her into a human.”

“Do you think that's why she can't talk? Something about the spell that turned her?”

“It's possible,” Deaton acknowledges. “It doesn't look like there's a physical reason for why she can't talk, at least without examining her vocal cords, so it’s possible she gave up the power to use her voice but not the physical ability to speak. Magic is a strange thing. But with a spell of this level it most certainly required some kind of sacrifice.”

“So she is a mermaid?” Scott asks, his voice a little hushed.

Stiles gets it, every time they discover a new level to the supernatural they're always a little awestruck, the novelty of it never really wearing off. Especially when they find a new supernatural being who isn't violent and trying its best to murder the entire pack, which is unfairly rare and unusual. 

“Yes I do believe so.” Deaton points to the girl’s incisors. “As you can see her teeth are slightly sharper than a human’s. Her hair has never been cut and her skin is slightly different too, almost like it has a sheen. There were guanine crystals in her scales, fish have them as well. It's what makes them shimmer, the plates stack atop each other and interfere with the way light is naturally reflected.” He slides his hands down underneath her jaw. “Her gills have closed up” -

“Gills?” Stiles interjects, remembering the way she ran her fingers over her throat earlier.

“Yes, they'd need a way to breathe under water of course. They only come up on the surface occasionally, it's safer for them under the water. Is she breathing alright?”

“Yes,” Scott says, at the same time Stiles shakes his head.

“Something weird happened last night,” he tells them. “It was like she stopped breathing for a few seconds but then she started again, she was sleeping, I don't really know what happened.”

Deaton nods, looking unconcerned. “Her lungs may be underdeveloped, and she's used to sleeping underwater. It's possible her human body is still adjusting and she doesn't have full autonomic control of her breathing yet, her body is used to relying on her gills when she's asleep. In humans it's known as Ondine’s curse.”

“Wait, people can just like, _stop breathing?_ In their sleep?” Stiles asks. “Cus that's not terrifying.”

“It's a very rare respiratory condition,” Deaton says mildly. “Usually it's either congenital or preceded by brain trauma, I wouldn't get too concerned.”

“But what about her, will she be okay?”

“I suspect she just needs a bit of time to fully adjust.” He looks down at the girls feet. “May I?”

She tenses up but allows Deaton to peek under the bandages. He makes a satisfied noise before sitting back and peeling his gloves off. “Those look like they're healing nicely, she should be able to try walking in a few days. She should get the hang of it fairly quickly, mermaids are fast learners.”

“Okay.” Scott sounds hesitant. “So like… she's a mermaid, but she has legs now? Does that mean she can shift back or….” 

“She's human now,” Deaton says. “This kind of magic is permanent. She can't go back from wherever she came from. She’ll never be a mermaid again. She chose that when she made the choice to change her body to walk on land.”

“So like, how does that happen anyway?” Stiles asks. “Are we talking like, mermaid witches here? Curses? Is she gonna evaporate into sea foam if we can't find a prince to fall in love with her?”

“What?” Scott exclaims. “She can evaporate?!”

“She does originally,” Stiles mutters. “At the end of the story, the prince doesn't love her back and she like, dissolves. It kills her. She literally dies of unrequited love.”

Scott looks horrified. “That's not possible, is that possible?”

“I'd have to know the specific conditions of the spell,” Deaton says. “But for the moment let's assume it's unlikely. That's only one story after all.”

“Why would she do something like this anyway?” Scott asks. “Why would she want to be human?”

Deaton looks at Stiles. “Where did you find her again?”

“On the beach, down by the Whittemore’s house.”

“And she was alone? There wasn't anyone with her? A boy, perhaps?”

The girl goes rigid next to him and makes a soft broken noise in the back of her throat. Stiles watches her blink rapidly a few times and set her jaw, refusing to look at any of them.

Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Stiles? Was there a boy?”

“I didn't see anyone.” Stiles frowns, looking down at the bruises on her arms. “If Jackson was there I didn't see him.” He reaches out and touches her forearm where there's a dark purple-blue mark on her white skin. “Was there a boy there, before I found you? Did he do this to you?”

The girl closes her eyes and leans her head back against the couch, going limp under his touch, like she's pretending to be invisible. 

Deaton sighs. “When they cast this kind of magic it's almost certainly over a human boy. Mermaids have a weakness for them, they fall in love quite easily. Unfortunately they're more likely to get their hearts broken. They're quite sensitive creatures.”

Tears are pooling in the corners of the girl's eyes and Stiles can't bear to watch her cry anymore, he reaches his arm over her shoulders but she flinches and slides away, reaching up to cover her face with one hand as she curls into herself. Stiles retreats, pulling his arm back, and tries not to feel the sting of rejection.

“So like - what are we going to do with her?” Scott asks, shooting Stiles a sympathetic glance.

Deaton tilts his head. “I assumed she would stay here with you.”

“But - but what about her family?” Scott sounds mildly scandalized, like they've kidnapped her, not taken her in. “She really can't go back?”

“Never,” Deaton says softly, sounding a little sad. “Mermaids have been dying out you know, over the centuries. Pollution mostly, climate change, all kinds of things connected to human activity, but they also have the unfortunate tendency to produce mostly girls, there simply aren't enough men to sustain procreation. If she chose to become human she either had no family left or thought this boy was worth giving them up. Either way, she can't live in the water anymore.”

“Oh,” Scott says softly, looking a little heartbroken on the girl's behalf. “That's - that's awful.”

“I could take her back with me I suppose,” Deaton continues, “but she'd most likely be very lonely. Mermaids are social creatures just like wolves or humans. She needs to be around other people her age.”

“People who can teach her how to be human,” Stiles infers. It's so awkward, talking about her right in front of her like this, but maybe she really can't understand them, and anyway she's still hiding, knees pulled to her chest, head braced against her palm.

Scott sighs and examines the girl for one long moment, concern flashing across his face, and shoves a hand through his hair. “Okay then. So what do we need to know?”

“She should really see Melissa and get examined by a real doctor, first of all, considering that she's human now. I’d certainly recommend a tetanus shot, possibly immunizations. She's going to be exposed to all kinds of human ailments and there's no way of knowing how strong her immune system is” -

“Okay hang on, hang on.” Stiles leans over the side of the couch and snags a notepad sitting on the side table and a pen, clicks it open and makes a note to research vaccines. “Okay, continue. Wait, food, what can she eat? Please tell me she can eat real human food and not like, raw fish only.”

Deaton looks amused. “They do eat quite a lot of fish, I'm sure she'd enjoy sushi but lean protein in general, vegetables. She should avoid heavily processed foods for now, you can give her some fruit to get her used to natural sugar but I wouldn't give her any stimulants yet, no candy, alcohol, or caffeine. Keep her diet clean for now, introduce new foods one at a time.”

Scott looks a little overwhelmed. “I feel like we just adopted a pet or something.”

“Scott!” Stiles rolls his eyes emphatically in the girl’s direction. “Ee-shay an-cay understand-way -ou-yay.”

Scott wrinkles his forehead. “Huh?”

“You're hopeless,” Stiles snaps.

Scott whistles. “Someone needs a nap.”

“Boy,” Deaton tuts, and they both hang their heads a little guiltily. “Melissa can put her on a vitamin regimen. Plenty of water of course. Keep an eye on her feet, you'll need to change the bandages and clean them until they're scabbed over. Walking will most likely be painful at first” -

“God, witches are real sadists,” Stiles mutters.

“For real,” Scott agrees. “I can keep draining her pain but…”

“It may improve with time,” Deaton muses. “Like I said, magic is a strange thing and all witches practice their own way, there's no way to be sure of the details of the spell. Or the side effects.”

“But what about the whole love thing?” Stiles argues. “Isn't the prince’s love for her in the story sort of contingent on her staying human and not becoming, like, vapor?”

“That's just one story, and a fairytale at that,” Deaton says, and looks back at Scott for a moment. “Besides, you know as well as I do that there are always exceptions to the rule.”

Scott nods and tilts his head to the side. “Do you think she’ll ever be able to talk?”

“There's no way of knowing.” Deaton looks back at the girl. “I'm sure you'll find a way to communicate. In the meantime, act normal around her. She’ll need to adapt to human customs and the best way for her to do that is to observe you.”

Stiles glances at the girl, who's suddenly much closer to him, leaning against his shoulder and looking down at the notes he took, her eyes skimming over the words from left to right - 

“Hey!” Stiles taps her wrist and when she glances up at him she freezes, her eyes going wide and alarmed, like she knows she's been caught.

“Oh my god, you can read!” he exclaims. “You can, can't you?”

She stares at him, her bottom lip held between her teeth, before giving him a short nod.

“Which means you - you understand everything we're saying, don't you?”

She glances up at him through her eyelashes, hesitant, before nodding again.

“And it's all true?” he asks eagerly. “You're a mermaid?”

She smooths her hands over her blanket-covered thighs and bobs her head.

“Do you have a name?” Scott asks, his voice gentle.

Another nod, her hands gripping the blanket.

Stiles pushes the pad of paper towards her. “Can you write it?”

There's a moment of silence where she just stares at the pad of paper and then she reaches out with shaking hands and takes it from him, curls the fingers of her left hand around the pen and presses it to the paper. She drags it across the page, lips pressed together in concentration as she slowly writes down a word, the letters shaky and uneven but legible: L y d i a.

“Lydia?” Stiles reads. “That's your name?”

She taps the pen against the page and reaches up with her right hand to brush a stray tear away before glancing at Stiles, her eyes wide and vulnerable. He swallows and rests his hand on her bare shoulder. “That's a really pretty name.”

A muscle in her jaw twitches and then her lips curve up in a fragile looking smile, her eyes locked on his, like she can see right into his soul and all Stiles can see is her, pale glowing skin and hair like a sunrise, parted lips, eyes shining with tears and pain and fear than he can feel deep in his bones.

“Can you tell us about it?” he asks softly. “What happened to you?”

She blinks slowly and pulls away, shakes her head and lets the pad of paper slide off her lap and down to the floor as she pulls her legs in towards her chest.

“That's all right,” Deaton says calmly, reaching down to pick up the notepad off the floor. He leans forward, hands resting on his thighs until the girl finally meets his gaze. “You're safe here, and that's what matters.”

“I'm gonna call Allison,” Scott announces. “She's gonna need stuff, maybe the girls should swing by the grocery store too.”

Stiles yawns. “Good call.”

“You should really take a nap dude,” Scott advises, holding his phone up to his ear.

Stiles glances sideways at the girl, who's still curled up in a ball next to him. “Maybe later.”

“You should let her watch tv,” Deaton advises as he stands up. “It would be good for her actually, mermaids pick up information quickly; it'll help her absorb social norms.”

“Hey, you don't have to sell me.” Stiles shakes Deaton’s hand when he offers it and reaches across the coffee table to snag the remote.

Scott walks Deaton out while he calls Allison, leaving Stiles alone with the girl - Lydia, he reminds himself. He turns the tv on and she jumps as the sound comes through the speakers, Stiles hastily hits mute and reaches out to pat her shoulder reassuringly.

“Sorry, it's okay, it's part of the movie,” he tells her, squinting at the screen, watching a group of robed students walk through the halls of Hogwarts for a moment before the scene shifts. “This is - do you know what a picture is? A photograph?”

She nods while staring at the tv, transfixed. A quick check with the cable guide shows that he's managed to land on the beginning of an all day marathon, perfect, that should keep her occupied long enough for him to catch a little sleep. 

“Okay, so this is a movie, it's like a moving picture,” he explains. “The camera captures the image, and then it - okay, that's not actually information you need to understand this, anyway it's like a - a story. Have you - you know how to read, do you have books?”

Her eyes flit sideways to him and gives him a derisive look, like _duh_ , which makes him laugh a little. “Okay then,” he says, and turns the volume back on. “Think of it like a moving story and while it can be argued that these are mere shells of the original text they're still pretty awesome.”

He grabs a throw pillow patterned with coral colored sea horses from the end of the couch and stretches out on his side before shoving it under his head, his legs hanging half off the cushions. The girl shifts a little so she's wedged between the back of the couch and his thighs but when Stiles looks up at her she's staring at the tv, mouth a little open, a fascinated expression on her face, watching Hermione teach Ron the proper way to pronounce Wingardium Leviosa. He lets his eyes shut, feeling weirdly comforted by the feeling of her toes brushing against the backs of his knees, and drifts off to sleep.

When he wakes up hours later he's alone, onscreen the whomping willow is swaying ominously. Rain is lashing at the sliding doors and outside the ocean looks stormy, waves capped in white crashing over the sand. He stretches and rolls off the couch, shoving one hand through his hair to push it back as he walks through the living room.

Lydia's perched on a stool next to the island in the kitchen with Allison; Scott and Malia are sitting together up on the counter in the far corner of the room. Lydia's been showered and changed into clothes; she's dressed in Allison's navy and cream striped tee shirt dress, her hair wet and hanging down her back almost to the floor.

“Hey Stiles,” Allison says brightly from where she's sitting on the edge of the island, laying out scissors, a comb and a bottle of detangling spray. 

“Hey. Where's Kira?” he asks, his voice a little rusty.

“Picking up dinner,” Scott explains. “You slept all afternoon.”

He looks over at the objects Allison’s assembled. “What’re you doing?”

“She needs a haircut,” Allison says matter of factly. “I'm just gonna chop the bottom off and then deal with the rest of it, trying to comb through all of this would take hours.” 

She hops off the island as Stiles grabs a stool and straddles it, offering Lydia a tentative smile as he sits down. She doesn't smile back but she quirks her lips up slightly before turning over her shoulder to watch Allison. Allison gathers Lydia's hair up in one hand and reaches for the scissors; Lydia takes one look at them and pulls away so hard she slides off her stool and falls right into Stiles, who manages to catch her under her thighs and shift her into his lap before she can hit the floor.

“Oh!” Allison looks surprised and then apologetic, reaching out to tap Lydia's shoulder. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. It won't hurt, here, look, see?”

Lydia turns her head so her cheek is resting against Stiles’ shoulder and watches as Allison holds one of her curls in front of her face and snips off the end. “See?” she says encouragingly. “No big deal. Really, cutting some of it will make it a lot easier to deal with. And I promise it won't hurt, okay?”

Lydia presses her lips together tightly but then she nods in agreement, bracing her hands against Stiles’ shoulders as she shifts backwards onto her stool. Stiles sits facing her, knee to knee, watching as Allison pulls all of Lydia's hair behind her back and then crouches down, the scissors held in one hand. Lydia screws her eyes up as Allison begins to cut her hair so the ends hit halfway down her back and not her legs, her face relaxing when she realizes that she can't feel it.

Stiles looks past her where Scott is sitting up on the counter with one arm slung casually around Malia, who's gnawing on one of her thumbnails and staring down at the floor. Stiles feels a little pang of sympathy for her, she was the last one to join their ragtag pack in high school and she's been the baby of the group ever since, she probably feels threatened by the shift in dynamic Lydia could bring. Malia needed them, especially in the beginning, after Scott got her to shift back in the woods that day, but even she knew how to talk, how to use her legs, how to have basic (if somewhat stilted) human interactions.

Compared to her Lydia may as well be from another planet.

She sits very still while Allison chops off the ends of her hair until it falls in long layers down her back before standing up and grabbing the bottle of detangler. She sprays Lydia's whole head and grabs the comb, works it through the ends of her hair and starts to pick apart the knots. Lydia winces, her hands grasping the fabric of the borrowed dress, twisting it around her fingers until her knuckles turn white.

Stiles reaches out and slowly rests his hands over hers. Her eyes flick up to him and she meets his gaze as he carefully unwinds the material from her fingers. Her hands are small and cool in his own, fine boned, and she's looking at him like there are stories behind her eyes that he wants to know, songs trapped behind her lips that he wants to hear, like there's this entire fascinating person hiding inside this new shiny human body of the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, separated from him by all of these unspoken words, words she may never speak aloud.

“Okay?” he asks her softly, watching her grimace as Allison yanks the comb through another knot.

She opens her mouth like she's going to answer and then snaps it shut, a mild look of horror spreading over her face, like she's just remembered that she can't talk. Her fingers tighten around his and suddenly Stiles gets an idea, he flips her hands over so they're palm up in her lap and traces letters across her hand with his index finger: _r u o k ?_

Her eyes light up, like he's just shown her an incredible trick, and she flips their hands over, holding his right hand in hers as she presses the tip of her finger to his palm and spells out _h i_.

“Hi,” he says back, and starts to laugh, inexplicably delighted by this. “Hi, Lydia.”

She looks at him eagerly, a fragile hopeful smile on her face, and points to him before tracing _S?_ over his skin.

“Stiles,” he reminds her, and spells his name out on the back on her hand. “I'm Stiles.”

“What are you doing?” Allison asks curiously, setting the comb down and walking around to Lydia's left. 

“Look,” he says excitedly. He points emphatically to Allison. “Allison,” he says to Lydia, and spells out her name on Lydia’s hand. “Show Allison.”

Lydia looks up at Allison and hesitantly reaches for her hand, Allison’s eyes widen as she holds it out for Lydia to take. Stiles leans forward on his stool, watching as Lydia carefully traces letters over Allison's pale skin: _s i s t e r ?_

“Oh,” Allison says softly. She shoots a worried sideways look at Stiles, who shrugs uselessly, watching Lydia's forehead furrow as she gives Allison a questioning look. “Are you asking if I'm Stiles’ sister?” 

Lydia shakes her head and points to Allison, then herself, then at Allison again, looking frustrated. 

“Hey, it's okay,” Allison says calmly. “What? What are you asking?”

Lydia purses her lips and writes more on Allison's hand, tracing the words slowly so Stiles can follow along: _what are you?_

“Human,” Allison says softly. “I'm human. Like you are now.”

Lydia slaps her hand against Allison's, shaking her head again, and writes out the question again, looking desperately at Allison: _what are you?_

“I'm sorry, I don't understand,” Allison says.

“Wait, wait, I get it!” Stiles shouts. “What are you to her?”

Allison crinkles her nose. “I still don't understand.”

“Relationships,” Stiles explains. “She means - you mean, what are we to each other, right?” he asks Lydia. “You - you had a family. Where you're from. Before you changed.”

Lydia nods, her bottom lip trembling, clutching onto Allison's hand. 

“Oh,” Allison murmurs. “Oh, okay.” She gives Lydia a tender look, gently pulling her hand out of Lydia's grip. “Friends. I'm a friend.”

Lydia tilts her head questioningly, grabbing at Stiles’ hand to draw a question mark, like she doesn't understand what Allison means.

“I thought she spoke English.” Allison looks confused. “How can she” -

“Allison,” Stiles interrupts softly.

“You didn't have friends?” Allison asks her. “Where you come from?”

Lydia shakes her head and stubbornly writes out _sister_ again across the inside Stiles’ forearm.

“You had sisters,” Allison guesses, sounding sad. “Where you were before.”

Lydia shivers and spells out another word on his skin: _gone_.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks. “What happened to them?”

She looks away and brushes her hand across the air before dropping it into her lap. Across the room Stiles can see Scott and Malia watching them curiously and he makes the executive decision to blow over the whole werewolf/human pack dynamic thing and go for the simplest explanation instead.

“Friends is like a family you make,” he says. “We all have different parents, we’re not related. But we live here together, like a family. We care about each other. Does that make sense?”

Allison sighs and cups her hand over Lydia's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she says. “This must all be so strange for you.”

When Lydia finally looks at her Allison gives her a gentle smile. “I never had a sister. I know it isn't the same thing but friends is special too. Friends take care of each other. Is that okay? If we're friends?”

Lydia glances over at him and Stiles gets the strange sense like she's asking for permission, or guidance. He tries to imagine what it would feel like, to lose his dad and Scott forever, to have his body changed by excruciatingly painful magic, have his ability to communicate taken away, to be taken in by strangers, to have to adjust to new customs, new people, an entirely new _life_.

“Hey Lydia, look. I know that this - us - isn't what you wanted,” he says quietly. “I don't know why you decided to do this and I'm sorry that it went wrong. That things didn't work out the way you thought they would. But you're safe here with us. We're actually kind of experts at this thing.” He looks fondly over at Malia for a second. “And we're going to do our best to help you. To make your life, your new human life… we're going to do the best we can to give you a good life. Okay?”

Lydia stares at him with those big eyes, so startlingly green and wide, and then her lips press together and curve up into a ghost of a smile. She reaches for his hand and traces _ok_ onto his palm before winding her fingers around his.

Stiles swallows down an aching lump in his throat, full of pride for this strange girl, for being so brave, for being willing to trust him. “Okay. Good. Okay, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if Lydia feels somewhat OOC right now, I'm making up my own version of the mermaid mythology as I go along! Also I researched fish scales for no other reason than I felt compelled to understand why they sparkled so ummm you're welcome I guess? Please forgive me you guys I'm really leaning into the weird here!


	3. adaptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what mankind calls legs, and you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw.’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Kira comes back while they're still all hanging out in the kitchen, a huge takeout bag from Pacific Sushi in one hand, a pizza box balanced in the other and her keys tucked under her chin, her hair dripping wet from the rain. Stiles jumps up from his stool and swoops over to rescue the pizza, taking the box before Kira can drop it.

“Thanks,” she says breathlessly, curling her now-free hand around her key ring. “It's pouring like crazy out there. How's, um, everyone doing?”

Stiles glances over at Lydia as he sets the box down on the island. “Hanging in there.”

“That's good.” Kira drops the bag of sushi next to the pizza box and shrugs out of her raincoat. She hangs it over a free stool and offers Lydia a bright smile. “Hey, your hair looks great!”

Lydia blinks at her and drops her head for a moment, her fingers twisting in her damp strawberry blond waves. Kira's smile falters and Stiles reaches out to squeeze her shoulder.

“Baby steps,” he whispers. “Don't take it personally.”

“Okay,” she says softly, patting his arm, and moves around him to start unpacking the food.

Malia hops down from the counter next to Scott and reaches up to get plates out of the cabinet, her navy crop top riding up to reveal her stomach, flat and tan. She turns and brings the plates over to the kitchen island and sets them down, bumping her hip against Stiles as she pops the pizza box open.

“Thank god.” Malia lifts up a slice and sets it onto her plate, the crust dripping over with cheese. “Sushi is not real food. No offense Kira.”

“Malia.” Kira raises an eyebrow in Lydia's direction as she hands Scott a package of California rolls.

“What?” Malia spins around to grab a roll of paper towels from next to the sink. “Just ‘cus she has to eat it doesn't mean I have to.”

“I don't know, I didn't like sushi at first but now I think it's good,” Scott muses.

Kira laughs and gives him a fond look. “Vegetarian California rolls aren't really sushi Scott.”

“I'm just saying, she's a mermaid,” Malia continues. “Like I get it, what else is there down there other than like, algae, but I'm a were” -

“Malia!” Stiles jabs her in the shoulder and she jumps, her eyes going wide.

“Sorry,” she mutters, dropping her head. “I forgot she doesn't” -

“Okay, I'm starving, how about we eat?” Allison cuts in. “Harry Potter marathon in the living room, come on.”

She and Kira carry the rest of the sushi and the plates into the living room and after a moment's hesitation Lydia allows Scott to carry her over to the couch so she doesn't hurt her feet. Next to Stiles Malia slouches against the island, her fingers picking at the crust of her pizza slice.

“Hey.” Stiles glances sideways at her. “Okay?”

She shrugs, staring down at her plate. “She doesn't know about us.”

“No, I don't think so. Probably a good idea to let that one lie for awhile until she adjusts.”

She scoops up a little pizza sauce and sucks it off her finger. “So what's your plan then?”

“I don't have one yet.”

“But she's staying here with us.”

“Yeah.”

Malia bites her bottom lip and picks up her plate. “Okay.”

“Hey, c’mere.” Stiles leans up next to her and presses a kiss to her temple. “Just because we're making room for her doesn't mean you're getting replaced, okay?”

Her mouth twists a little but she nods, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay. C’mon, we should go over there, she's like, staring at us.”

“What?” He looks over at the living room and Lydia's sitting on the couch, leaning over the arm so she can see into the kitchen. “Huh.”

Malia raises an eyebrow at him. “Someone's got a crush.”

Stiles gapes at her. “Wha - no, c’mon, it's not like that, she's just, you know, I found her, it's different, it's not like she and I” -

“Stiles.” She rests her hand on his shoulder. “Just - teach her how to be human, okay? You're really good at it.”

She spins around him and walks over to sit down next to Kira on the loveseat. He shakes his head and picks up his plate to follow her, walking around to the couch where there's a perfect Stiles-sized space open between Lydia and Allison.

“Okay if I sit?” he asks.

Lydia looks up at him and nods, a plastic box of tuna sashimi sitting in her lap. Stiles sinks down between her and Allison, trying not to stare at Lydia as she picks up the disposable chopsticks and holds them both correctly and elegantly in her fingers to scoop up a piece of fish and pop it into her mouth.

“Guys,” Scott says softly.

The girls are all staring at Lydia too, who freezes when she realizes everyone is watching her eat, a worried expression coming over her face like maybe she accidentally made some kind of faux pas. Stiles quickly picks up his pizza slice and takes a huge bite, chews aggressively and swallows.

“Mm, this is great,” he says, awkward and too loud. “Lydia, how's your sushi?”

“Uh, Stiles” -

“Scott, I got this,” he says blithely. “Social norms, remember?”

“Um, what are we doing?” Allison asks him hesitantly.

“Modeling.”

“Modeling?”

“Hey Allison's, how's your food?”

Allison blinks at him and then her eyes widen in understanding as she leans over him slightly so Lydia can see her. “Good, thank you Stiles. Kira, can I share some of your dragon roll?”

“Of course!” Kira gives her an extra-cheery smile as she gets up to pass Allison a few pieces of her roll. “Here you go!”

“Thank you,” Allison sing songs. “Scott, you want to try?”

Scott gives her an alarmed look. “No, uh, I mean no thank you.”

“Okay, really?” Malia slouches back on the loveseat, scowling. “We're doing this now? You guys didn't bother doing the fake polite thing when I, _you know._ ”

“Maybe we should've,” Stiles jokes, and ducks when she throws a balled up napkin at him. “Oh real nice, super helpful, thanks.”

“You're welcome,” she says sweetly, and laughs so hard she slides right off the loveseat and ends up eating her pizza right there on the floor.

Everyone eats while the rain pours down outside and it's cozy like this, being inside together, safe from the storm. Next to him Lydia eats her sushi in neat little bites, watching the movie with wide eyes. Stiles eats his pizza and tries not to stare at her but he can't help it, he's fascinated by her, her beauty, the razor sharp intelligence he has a feeling she's hiding, or maybe just isn't capable of expressing, given the circumstances, and Stiles has to wonder all over again what could have possibly made her choose this, how desperate she must have been, to do this to herself.

How much she must have loved that boy, the one she gave up her voice for along with her old life.

When everyone is ready to call it a night they realize they have to figure out sleeping arrangements for an extra person. The house has three bedrooms; Stiles has a room to himself that he was supposed to share with Heather, Scott and Allison are in the room down the hall, and Kira and Malia are sharing a room across from them. When Danny and Isaac get here next week one of them is taking the couch and the other gets the air mattress being stored in the library off the living room but they all agree putting Lydia in a room by herself when she can't walk or call out for help if she needs it is a bad idea.

“Put her in our room,” Kira suggests. “We've got two beds, Malia and I can share.”

Malia opens her mouth like she wants to argue and Kira elbows her in the side. “It'll be fine, the beds are both queens, plenty of room to share,” Kira mollifies. 

Because Allison is a goddess of strength and Lydia is tiny Allison gives her a piggyback ride out of the living room to help her get ready for bed, the other girls trailing after her down the hallway to their bathroom, leaving Scott and Stiles to clean up.

“Hey, so I walked by the Whittemore’s earlier when you were sleeping.” Scott turns the tv off and locks the back door.

Stiles piles dirty plates on top of the pizza box. “And?”

“Totally cleared out man. House was locked up tight, all the lights were off. No cars in the driveway. I ran into their gardener, he said they left this morning.”

“You think they went back to Beacon Hills?”

Scott folds the blanket Lydia slept with last night over the back of the couch. “Maybe.”

Stiles groans as he carries the dirty dishes into the kitchen. “Please don't tell me we're going to track Jackson down. I'm still traumatized from high school.”

“We might have to,” Scott points out.

“We don't know he was the guy she did this for. We don't know it was anyone really, we have no idea what happened.”

“Yeah, because she can't tell us. But Stiles, c’mon, you know what it looks like.”

“So what, you think she was in love with Jackson, really?” Stiles scrubs at the plates harder than necessary before putting them in the dishwasher.

Scott sighs. “I don't know. His family comes here every summer though, it's definitely a possibility.”

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well that's just fucking great.”

“We don't have to do anything about that right now,” Scott placates. “Obviously whatever happened - if anything happened between them - he clearly didn't stick around.”

“So now what?”

“I called my mom, she made an appointment for Lydia at the clinic for tomorrow morning. Deaton’s right, if she really is human she's going to need vaccines and stuff, she's probably never been exposed to human germs. And she wants to check that's she's, um, you know…” 

“Scott we saw her naked, she's definitely a girl.”

“You know what I mean.” Scott rubs his eyes. “Look, this isn't like Malia. She already had a family, she knew how to do basic stuff. This is starting from the ground up.”

“Not totally. It's not like she's some wild animal, Scott. She can read, she can use chopsticks for Christ’s sake, she understands us. It's like… like having a foreign exchange student.”

“Stiles. She can't walk. She can't talk. She's going to - she's going to need a lot of help.”

“You don't think I know that?”

“She's getting attached to you,” Scott says plainly. “You're the only one she really tries to interact with. I see the way she looks at you, we all do.”

“And what, that's a bad thing?”

“I'm just saying, I think you should be careful.”

Stiles picks up his laptop and turns the kitchen light off. “Why?”

Scott rolls his eyes, like Stiles is being purposefully obtuse. “Because I see the way you look at her too.”

“Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself here?”

“Stiles, you heard Deaton. She's - you know. Fragile. Emotionally speaking.”

“Oh yeah, right, okay,” he scoffs. “Like a beautiful girl who was probably in love with _Jackson_ would be into me anyway, since when am I ever that lucky?”

“That's not the point, Deaton made it sound like they're all boy crazy.”

“Hey, she's not crazy. He said sensitive, that's not the same thing.”

“Dude, just think about it from her perspective. She almost died and you saved her, you brought her here, you - you guys kinda seem like you have a thing happening, you know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits, because Scott’s right. He and Lydia do have a thing, some kind of connection that he feels with every fiber of his body. “I - I just want to help her, I guess? I can't help it, when I'm around her I feel like… I don't know. You don't know what it was like, when I found her. To see someone like that. I can't not care about her, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Scott rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I just - I don't want anyone to get hurt. You or her. That's all.”

Stiles sighs and claps Scott on the shoulder because when it comes down to it Scott’s just an overprotective puppy. “Yeah, I know dude.”

“Look, let's just take it one day at a time, okay? We've got all summer to figure this out. Whatever's going on with the two of you, you don't have to like, rush into anything. It's only been one day.”

Stiles’ stomach tightens, he hadn't even thought about what happens to Lydia when summer’s over and they all have to go back to school. “I get where you're coming from but you don't have to worry, okay? It's not like I'm going to fall in love with her.”

Scott narrows his eyes at him. “No offense dude, but you sometimes fall in love like _that_ ” - he snaps his fingers - “and she traded her old life and everything she knows plus her voice to be with some guy, so like… I just think you should both take it slow.”

“If you're trying to imply that we both happen to be deep passionate people” -

“Who _barely_ know each other” -

“Okay, Scott, I love you buddy but you're getting way ahead of yourself here.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Scott says. “Just, please take a break from the researching and get some sleep tonight.”

“Uh huh, sure, okay.”

It's not like he's lying, not really, he plans to sleep at some point tonight, just after he goes down a few more Wikipedia holes first. 

Stiles sets up his laptop on the bed in his room and tries not to think about Lydia across the hall, sleeping in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, her future a looming question mark. He crosses over to the window set in the back wall and cracks it open, the smell of rain and saltwater fresh in the air. He absently realizes he never took a shower and goes into the attached bathroom he’s sharing with Scott and Allison. He strips and turns the water on hot, tilting his face towards the spray when he gets in, his head full of stories about mermaids and princes, underwater castles and sea witches, sirens, women who lure men to their deaths with their beauty and a pretty song.

He scrubs shampoo through his hair and tries not to think about Scott's warning. It's ridiculous, he mentally scoffs. Lydia is gorgeous, and Stiles is, well, _Stiles_ , average and skinny and human. He isn't Jackson Whittemore, boy king of Beacon Hills and he isn't a Disney prince either, the kind of guy girls fall in love with at a distance. 

He's just a boy who happens to run with wolves, a boy who believes in magic, who's seen dead people and blood and once lived with evil inside his body because he wasn't strong enough to keep it out but was somehow strong enough to survive it, a boy who found a beautiful naked girl washed up on the beach.

A boy who wants to save her.

His fingers drift down to the scar on his side and he leans his head back against the tiled wall. He lets the panic in like an old friend, the memory washing over him like a wave. It's not as brutal as it used to be, he doesn't hyperventilate or cry or throw up when he thinks about it anymore but it's always there, weighing on him, like that boy in the story about the ice queen, a dark shard of glass burrowed into his heart.

He and Heather never talked about it; she didn't ask and he didn't offer. They weren't together back then, she never even knew about it. She only saw the aftermath, the way he'd shift away from her when she touched his side, that one time his headphones had gotten tangled around his wrist while he was digging through his backpack and he'd had a full fledged panic attack, the phantom feel of bandages on his skin.

Stiles takes a deep breath and counts to ten, and shuts the water off.

When he gets out of the shower he changes into a clean pair of sweatpants and an old Captain America tee shirt, rubs a towel through his hair and goes back to his laptop. He spends an hour researching vaccines, wondering if the witch's spell simply transformed Lydia's tail and gills or if she's human on the inside too, if she has a fully functioning immune system or could get sick and die if she catches a cold. He pulls his backpack out from under his bed and finds a notebook, flips to a fresh page and starts a list for Melissa, ruminating over giving Lydia a flu shot on top of everything else. It's one of the worst parts of being human, getting sick, and he’ll do anything he can to spare Lydia of it.

Because he can't ever watch a person he loves - no, not loves, he mentally corrects himself, he can't use that word when he's only known Lydia for twenty-four hours, okay, _cares for_ , get sick again.

It's almost two in the morning when Scott knocks on his door and opens it without waiting for a reply. “Hey wake up man - Stiles, I thought you said you were going to sleep.”

Stiles closes his laptop. “I didn't specify when.”

Scott rolls his eyes from where he's leaning in the doorway. “Thought you'd want to know Lydia started doing that breathing thing again.”

Stiles vaults off the bed, trips over his own feet and catches himself on the nightstand. “Is she okay?”

“I think so, the girls are up with her, she was fine for awhile but now she's making this weird noise and it's keeping them awake, I could hear it through the wall.”

Stiles follows Scott out of his room and across the hall. In the girls’ bedroom Lydia is sitting up on one of the beds with her head resting on her knees next to Kira, who's murmuring something and rubbing her back. Lydia's breathing shallowly but other than that she seems fine, she isn't making that awful strangled noise she made last night and she isn't hyperventilating either.

“Do you hear that?” Scott asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “No, what?”

Lydia's head snaps up at the sound of his voice and he sees a glimpse of her eyes, wide and glassy, before she drops her head back down.

“It's kind of like a rattle but like, wetter,” Scott answers. “It was worse when she was sleeping; we woke her up, I got a little worried she wasn't getting enough air. I guess Deaton was right about her lungs.” 

Scott shivers a little, looking mildly freaked out, and Stiles thinks about the terror of those asthma attacks Scott used to get, the fear that used to seize up inside him every time Scott would start to wheeze and go pale under his tan, how he'd clutch his inhaler so hard his fingers would go white.

“And it's loud,” Malia complains drowsily, stretched out on the other bed with her hands pressed against her eyes.

“I can't hear anything,” Stiles says.

“It's not _that_ loud.” Scott yawns and rubs at his eyes. “Just enough to keep everyone with” - he points to his ears - “awake.”

Stiles wonders how they ever sleep with hearing like that and shakes his head, trying to focus on what’s right in front of him. “We can put her in my room for awhile, bring her back later?” he suggests quietly.

Scott nods, tipping his chin towards Lydia. “If she’ll go for it, yeah, that might be best.”

Stiles walks across the room to where Lydia's curled up with her legs pulled into her chest on the bed and after a moment's’ hesitation, wary not to get too into her space when her body language is so defensive, crouches down on the floor in front of her. “Hey Lydia.”

For a few seconds he thinks she's going to ignore him but then she lifts her head to rest her chin on her knees. She blinks heavily, her full lips parted as she breathes. Her hair has been braided and in the dark room her face is all smudges of shadow on white skin, the slash of her cheekbones, the bow of her mouth. He can feel everyone's eyes on them and realizes that he's holding his breath, feeling like he's standing in a hallway back at Beacon Hills High waiting for the most popular girl in school to reject him in front of everyone.

Lydia reached out an arm and brushes her fingers against his wrist; Stiles holds his hand out to her and she flips it so it's palm up and traces _hi_ against his skin.

“Hey,” he says again, a little breathless, a chill running up his spine at the feel of her touch against his skin.

Lydia’s fingertips rest in the palm of his hand, her eyes locked on his, like she's been sitting here this whole time waiting for him, and suddenly he's afraid Scott might be right because when Lydia looks at him like this it feels like the sun is shining just for him, like a Fourth of July sky exploding in fireworks, like chocolate and peanut butter melting in his mouth, like every trite cliche for love he's ever heard all rolled into one.

He takes a deep breath and tries desperately to focus on the situation at hand and not on those eyes, the slope of her cute nose, the flash of teeth he can see through parted lips. “Scott said you're having trouble breathing.”

_I’m ok,_ she writes.

“You're okay?” It's such a rush still, after their initial painful one way attempts at communicating, for her to talk to him, even if it's with her fingers and not her lips. A relief, to know that behind that beautiful face there's a person in there, that she's clearly so much more than a pretty shell of a former mermaid, a soul ravaged by magic.

_Yes._ She even gives him a soft kind of look, like she's trying to reassure him that she's really okay, like she can tell how worried he is.

“Are you sure? Do you feel lightheaded or anything like that?”

She shakes her head gently. _No._

“Does your chest hurt?”

_No._

“Okay, that's good. Hey, you wanna come hang out in my room for a bit?”

Lydia glances sideways at Kira, who's stifling a yawn, and nods, giving him a tiny closed lipped smile. _Ok._

“Yeah?”

Her smile turns up a bit more as her finger dances across his hand. _Yes, Stiles._

“Cool, um, is it okay if I carry you?”

She hesitates but then she nods, uncurling her body so her legs dangle off the edge of the bed. Stiles goes up on his knees and gets close enough for her to hook her legs around his waist. She reaches up to grip his shoulders and he gets his hands under her thighs, dizzy at the feel of her skin, smooth and warm over firm muscle. He pushes off the floor and manages to stand up without falling over, hiking her up a little so she's in a front piggyback.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Scott says, sounding more relieved than anything else.

“We'll be fine, right Lydia?” Stiles doesn't actually expect her to respond and it's still jarring, the silence, but she nods and rests her cheek on his shoulder and there goes his stupid heart again, banging around in a way that makes the breath shake loose from his chest.

He carries her across the hall and into his room; when he gets to his bed Lydia unwinds her legs from his waist and gracefully drops onto the mattress. She stretches out on her side, sinuous as a cat, those big eyes watching him as he shuts his door and perches on the edge of his bed. She's changed into a grey tank top with a black Adidas logo splashed over the chest and a pair of black mesh shorts he thinks belong to Malia, her pale legs practically glowing against the blue striped bedspread and Stiles thinks about fins, the sparkle of the scales clinging to her body when he found her, her eerie otherworldly beauty.

It's like something beyond a fantasy, a girl this beautiful in his bed, looking at him like he holds the keys to the universe, like he matters, like all she's aware of is him, and he has to remind himself of what she used to be, where she comes from, of the promise he made her, to do what he can to give her a good life, feeling the weight of responsibility in a new way and he thinks this must be what it feels like to be Scott, to always have someone depending on you.

Now that she's here he isn't sure what to actually do with her, she must be tired but she looks pretty awake, her eyes following him as he leans forward to open his laptop back up. “Do you want to watch something for a little bit?” he offers. “Or go to sleep?”

She tilts her head like she's considering it and then points to his laptop, coming up on her elbows a little to look curiously at it as Stiles opens his browser and goes to Netflix. He scrolls for a long time, trying to find something that he thinks she'll like that will fill at least one hole in her vast wasteland of pop culture knowledge and settles on Friends, thinking back to her and Allison in the kitchen earlier, Allison's offer of friendship and Lydia's resigned acceptance. He gets the pilot started and scoots back so he can lean against the headboard, his pillow under his shoulders. Lydia reaches for the spare pillow lying next to him, a little hesitant, and Stiles passes it to her; she mouths _thank you_ and sits up a little to slip it under her head.

He watches her watch the show, cataloging her every reaction, the way her eyebrows draw together sometimes, the way her eyes widen when Rachel runs into Central Perk in her wedding dress. As far as he can tell she has no problems following the plot and it makes him want to ask her so many questions, about what things were like for her before, where she came from, her family, if there are entire civilizations hiding under the surface of the ocean. The world feels bigger to him suddenly and it makes him wonder at the scale of her culture shock, if living on land seems just as strange to her as living under the water seems to him.

When the episode ends she gives him a hopeful look and reaches across the bed to trace the word _more?_ down his arm.

“Yeah?” he laughs. “You like it?”

She nods, curling over on her side as her fingers slide down to his hand. _Yes_.

“Okay,” he agrees, and then remembers they have to get up to see Melissa in the morning and it's currently almost three am. “One more.”

She slides progressively closer to him over the next twenty minutes, not quite close enough to touch but enough that he can feel the heat of her body next to him, highly aware of the rise and fall of her chest, the glint of her hair tumbling over her shoulders, the blink of her eyelashes. At one point she laughs, a breathless faint sound, and Stiles turns sideways to watch her in amazement, her lips parted and turned up in a smile, looking delighted in spite of herself, her cheeks flushing when she realizes he's watching her.

When the episode ends he shuts his computer down and moves it to the dresser before walking over to the lamp to turn it off while Lydia watches him from the bed, still stretched out on her side.

“Uh, did you, I mean, do you want to sleep in here?” he asks. “I can take you back to the girls’ room if you want but you're welcome to sleep in here too, whichever is more comfortable for you, I don't care, I definitely wouldn't mind if you want to stay here but maybe you'd rather have your own bed but really, your call, you're the guest, well, this is Allison's dad’s house actually so technically we're all guests here but anyway, yeah, you can sleep wherever you want.”

She blinks rapidly at him, looking a little stunned, and then pats the mattress, one eyebrow raised.

“Here?” he guesses, a little shocked somehow.

She nods and readjusts the guest pillow she's using so it’s under her head before flipping back the duvet cover and sliding under it. Stiles turns off the lamp so the room is bathed in darkness except for the glow of the moon out the window and walks around the foot of the bed to get in on the other side. He hasn't slept in a bed with anyone since Heather and he waits for it to feel strange, the way sharing a space with a new person always is, but the feeling never comes.

It's just nice, to have her next to him, curled up on her side facing him, the covers pulled up over her shoulders. The bed is big so there's plenty of space for both of them, even without touching, and he realizes how much he missed this, being next to another person, falling asleep to the reassuring sound of someone else breathing, the warmth of her body keeping the darkness at bay.

Stiles reaches his arm out a little, just enough so that he can brush her arm with his fingers under the covers. “Goodnight Lydia.”

She gives him a sleepy smile and traces out _goodnight Stiles_ over the back of his hand, her breathing soft and deep and reassuringly clear sounding.

Stiles smiles back and shuts his eyes, and falls asleep to the warmth of her fingers curling gently around his wrist.


	4. brave new world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘If you will bear all this, I will help you.’  
> - _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Scott wakes him up in the morning, opening the door slowly and tiptoeing over to sit on the edge of the bed. Stiles groans and stretches his arms above his head, pouting at Scott, who laughs quietly into one fist.

“C’mon, Mom wants us to meet her at the clinic at ten.”

Stiles yawns. “What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

“Ugh, I hate you. Seriously?”

Scott raises a knowing eyebrow. “How late were you guys up last night?”

Stiles yawns again and looks sideways at Lydia. She's still asleep, looking angelic with her lips parted slightly and cheeks flushed, hair spread out over the pillow like a fiery halo. “Like, three I guess.”

“Stiles!”

“I was socializing her” -

“You were _what_?”

“Calm down dude, we were just watching Friends, she loved it. God, can you imagine never watching tv before, or, or seeing a movie? Good thing it's the beginning of the summer, plenty of time to cover the important stuff.”

Scott looks at Lydia, chin in his hand. “She did okay sleeping?”

“Yeah, no freaky breathing stuff this time.”

Scott nods, looking relieved. “That's good. You should wake her up, we've gotta go soon. Allison can help her, um, get ready and everything.”

“Scott I'm going to need caffeine, like, asap.”

“Get up now and we’ll have time stop for coffee.” Scott slaps his shoulder. “Can you get her to the bathroom or do you need help?”

“Nah, I got it, go get dressed.”

“Okay, thanks.” Scott rolls his shoulders and hops off the bed, closing the door behind him when he leaves.

Stiles pads across the room to the bathroom, brushes his teeth and splashes cold water over his face. His hair is a mess and he shoves wet fingers through it for a minute before giving up. He goes back to his room and sits down at the edge of the bed, watching Lydia's chest rise and fall slightly as she breathes. He leans forward and rubs her bare shoulder, running his thumb back and forth over her skin, unbelievably soft and fragile feeling, and he marvels at that, how someone who looks so delicate survived such a radical transformation, how strong she must be to physically handle that kind of magic.

“Hey Lydia,” he says softly. “Time to wake up.”

Her eyelashes flutter and then her eyes open slowly, looking a little glazed over. She snuggles against the pillow and gives him a soft sleepy smile, sunlight falling across her face and she looks like a goddess, radiating light, her skin and her hair glowing and Stiles wants to fall to his knees so he can worship at her bloody healing feet, write prayers with his hands across her skin, bless her body with his lips, give her everything she could ever need as long as she keeps looking at him like this, like he's special, beloved, chosen.

And then the look flickers and dies on her face as her eyes widen and he can see the exact moment when it happens, when she realizes where she is and what's going on, that this isn't a nice little dream but cold hard reality and his heart falls all the way into his stomach as she pulls away from him and sits up.

“Hey.” He looks away for a moment to compose himself, feeling like an idiot, for letting himself get caught up in a fantasy like that. Of course she'd react this way, she doesn't trust him, she doesn't even really know him. “We're taking you to the doctor to get checked out, Allison's gonna help you get ready, okay?”

She nods hesitantly, reaching up to tuck a stray wave behind her ear. She just sits there, staring at him, and Stiles doesn't know what she's waiting for but then she flips the covers back and swings her legs over the side of the bed, staring down at the floor like it's made of lava, and then he feels like an asshole. How can he even compare the petty sting of momentary rejection to what she must be feeling, how afraid she must be, how lost she is, how the world, his world, must be terrifying and strange through her eyes?

“Do you want to try to walk to the bathroom?” he asks her.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, looking down at her bandaged feet.

“Okay, um, do you want me to give you a ride? I can carry you like last night.”

She turns her head sharply to look at him and Stiles holds his hands out to her palm up. “Here, stand up,” he tells her, sliding off the bed and standing in front of her.

She lays her hands over his palms and tightens her fingers through his as she stands up on the bed, grimacing. She exhales slowly and shuts her eyes, every muscle in her face tightening.

“Do your feet still hurt?” he asks.

She blinks and then nods, her lips pressed together, and Stiles sighs, carefully untangling their fingers. “Here, put your arms around my neck.”

She's so short she still doesn't quite reach his height even standing up on the bed; she looks up at him with wide uncertain eyes as she loops her arms around his neck. He waits for her to jump up but she doesn't move; she just stands there, her fingers digging into the back of his neck. He wonders if she's afraid of trusting him, of letting herself jump into the arms of someone she barely knows, if she trusted the other boy, the one she changed for, if Jackson Whittemore left this gorgeous creature to die naked face down on the sand.

He feels a wave of sudden despair, thinking of having to do this all summer, trying and failing to get her to fully trust him, dancing in circles around each other and never getting anywhere, but then he looks at her, really looks, and although she has a good poker face she can't quite hide it, how hard she's clenching her jaw, the fear in her eyes, and yet she's here, holding onto him anyway, standing at the edge of the bed and shaking like she's walking the plank and he's the only thing standing between her and drowning.

Stiles takes a deep breath and reminds himself that this isn't about him, it's about her, being what she needs. It's not her fault she doesn't trust him when she doesn't really know him yet, if he was in her place he probably wouldn't trust her either.

He thinks about how long it look him after junior year, to not jump at every whisper, to sleep through the night, to get through just one day without a panic attack. He got better, eventually, but in tiny increments, little victories, not magically overnight.

He has to be patient with her, he reminds himself, looking down at the fading bruises on her arms. Patient and careful.

“It's okay,” he tells her quietly, setting his hands lightly on her hips. “I've got you.”

She blinks slowly at him and then her expression settles, like she's been reassured, and she lets him hoist her off the bed, her legs winding tightly around his waist. He staggers across the room and into the bathroom, and sets Lydia down on the sink counter. She grips the edge of it and stares up at him, her eyes searching his face and he doesn't know what she's looking for so he tries to hold still, standing between her spread legs, and lets her get her fill, his heart beating rapidly under her scrutiny.

Lydia reaches out and pulls his hand towards her, glancing up at him through her eyelashes and then down at his hand, and spells out _thank you_. 

“For what?” he asks softly.

She gives him a puzzled look, her fingers skating across his palm. _For helping_.

“Oh.” He flashes her a quick smile, self conscious in the face of her gratitude. “You're welcome.”

Her face softens into that expression of hers that's not exactly a smile but definitely _something_ , something soft and fragile and open. He's captivated, lost in the depth of her eyes and her dimples and the slender fingers tracing random patterns over his palm.

He swallows down a wave of emotion and grasps her hands between his for a second before letting go and taking a deliberate step back. “We have to go soon. I'm gonna check on how Allison’s doing, she'll help you get ready.”

He walks around the counter and knocks on the opposite door of the bathroom, the one that connects to Scott and Allison's room.

“Hey.” Allison pushes the door open and pokes her head through the doorway. “She ready for me?”

“Yeah.” Stiles moves back to let Allison through, her hair is a little damp and she's already dressed for the day in denim cutoffs and a tank top with little pineapples printed on in.

“Hi!” she says brightly to Lydia. “Was your night okay?”

Lydia looks past Allison at Stiles and then to his amazement she smiles, dropping her head a little like she's embarrassed. Allison turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. “Stiles, you should get dressed, we have to leave soon.”

“Right. Yeah, of course, um, I'll leave you to it.” He waves awkwardly to Lydia and walks out of the bathroom before she can wave back.

He changes into a pair of jeans and a clean tee shirt, collects his wallet and phone and shoves them into his pockets. He jams his feet into his old beat up Adidas and only looks back at the closed bathroom door once (okay twice, whatever, it’s fine) before leaving his room. 

He finds Scott in the kitchen, eating an apple over the sink while scrolling through his phone with his free hand. “Here, catch.” Scott pockets his phone to toss a granola bar in Stiles’ direction and it sails right over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Stiles says dryly, and squats down to retrieve the bar. He tears the wrapper open and bites off a hunk of it, chews and chews while he crosses the island to get a glass of water. 

“The girls almost ready?” Scott asks.

Stiles shrugs. “Lydia doesn’t have any clothes, I don’t think there’s much for them to do.”

He must be right because Allison comes in a few minutes later with Lydia on her back. Her hair’s been unbraided and falls over her shoulders in glossy waves, she’s changed into a pale blue tee shirt but she’s still wearing the shorts she slept in last night and her feet are bare except for the bandages wrapped over them.

“Hey.” Allison carefully slips her feet into a pair of woven beige sandals while still holding Lydia. “Ready to go?”

Stiles tosses the wrapper from the granola bar into the trash and scoops up his car keys from the dish on the island. “Yeah, let's do it.”

She follows him outside, Scott lagging behind to lock the front door, and down the driveway where his car is parked next to a black Hyundai SUV, Kira’s summer rental. Stiles opens the passenger door and Allison turns around to gently set Lydia down on the seat. She reaches up to cling to the door frame, examining the Jeep with an apprehensive expression on her face.

“You know what boats are, right?” he asks her.

Lydia nods, rubbing her hands over the headrest of her seat.

“Okay, well this is a car, it’s really the same thing in principle, it just runs on a road instead of on water. It’s how we’re getting to the doctor. It might feel weird for you at first but you’ll get used to it.”

She lifts one shoulder hesitantly but she slides in all the way and lets him shut the door for her. Allison and Scott crawl into the backseat as Stiles jogs around the front of the car and gets in, shuts his door and starts the engine. He turns the AC on and watches a fascinated expression come over Lydia’s face as she holds her hands up to the vent to feel the cold air.

“Here, you um, you need to wear a seatbelt.” Stiles slowly reaches across her to grab it and stretches it over her chest before snapping it into place. “It’ll keep you from getting hurt if we get into an accident.”

She shoots him an alarmed look and he winces, turning sideways in his seat to face her. “I’m not saying we will,” he continues rapidly. “It’s just, safety first, you know, just in case, and it’s the law, I could get a ticket if we got pulled over and you weren’t wearing it, actually we’d both get tickets because you’re over sixteen, wait are you? How old are you?”

Lydia’s fingers slide down his forearm. _Twenty-one_

“Oh. Cool, us too, well Allison’s twenty-two, she’s a year older ‘cus she moved around so much but hey, that just means she’s older and wiser and yet doesn’t look a day over twenty-one.”

“Oh thanks Stiles,” Allison giggles from the backseat. “That’s very generous of you.”

Lydia’s head cranes around to look at Allison and then back to him, her hand still resting on his forearm, and Stiles shoots her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “You know what, that’s probably more information than you needed to know, anyway, you just have to wear it, okay?”

Lydia nods, a little wide eyed, and slides her fingers down his arm to grab his hand, her grip a little tight. _Okay._

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassures her. “This is safe, I promise. Roscoe would never let us down like that.”

Allison laughs from the backseat. “I wouldn’t bring up your tendency to name inanimate objects unless you want to totally confuse her.”

“Okay, good point,” he concedes. “Here, let’s start simple. Lydia, this is a car, my car, which I’ve been driving for a long time and it’s completely safe, got it?”

She nods and pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ears. Stiles grabs a pair of Wayfarers sitting in the cup holder, watching Lydia squint at the morning sunlight coming in through the windows of the Jeep. “Hey Allison, do you have a spare pair of shades?”

“Yeah, I think I have a backup pair of Ray Bans in here somewhere, hang on.” Allison rummages through her bag for a few seconds. “Here, found ‘em.”

She passes a pair of gold framed aviators over the console to him and Stiles holds them out to Lydia. “Here, try these on.”

Lydia takes them but instead of putting them on she just stares at them, holding the sunglasses carefully in her fingers like they’re extremely delicate. She glances back at Allison for a second, like she can’t believe Allison would share this with her, and balances them in one hand so she can write on his arm with her fingers: _Shiny._

Stiles presses his lips together very hard so he doesn’t laugh at her, remembering the way she’d touched Allison’s necklace the other morning, awestruck. “Here,” he says gently, and takes the sunglasses from her so he can slide them over her face. She holds very still while he adjusts them over the bridge of her nose.

“There,” he says, admiring his work, kind of stunned at how normal a simple accessory makes her look, like she’s just a regular human girl going out for coffee. “Is that good?”

She pulls them down a little to squint at him over the top of the lenses, pushes them back up with one finger and nods, looking pleased, her fingers soft on the back of his hand as she glances back at Allison for a second and then writes out _thank you._

“Lydia says thank you,” he tells Allison.

Allison leans forward in her seat so she can squeeze Lydia’s shoulder. “You’re welcome!”

Stiles shift into drive and steps on the gas; the Jeep rolls forward a few feet and Lydia gasps, her arms flying out to the sides. Stiles slams on the brakes and ducks before she can hit him in the face. “The car moves, did I not explain that part to you?”

Lydia stares at him, wild eyed, clutching the back of his headrest with one hand and bracing herself on the dash with the other. She lets out a long shuddery breath and drops her left hand down over his on the gearshift and writes out _sorry_ across his wrist.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “I know it probably feels weird for you but this is a pretty typical human experience. You’ll get used to it.”

Scott leans forward between their seats. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Lydia’s just getting used to the spectacular human invention we call an automobile.”

“Understandable.” Scott pats Lydia's arm lightly and she flinches a little initially but manages to give him a tight smile. “We should probably get going, bro.”

“Right.” Stiles lets his foot off the brake and idles down the driveway so Lydia can get used to the movement before putting his foot on the gas and slowly accelerating as he turns onto the street.

She stares out the window as he drives past vacation homes, palm trees, lush gardens of roses and hibiscus plants and wisteria vines, the world outside a riot of color. They pass by the Whittemores and Stiles braces himself but Lydia doesn’t seem to recognize it, she sits with her palm pressed against the window, mouth dropped open a little as she takes everything in.

After ten minutes the houses give way to the main drag of town, little clothing boutiques and restaurants, signs pointing to the way to the beach access road. Stiles hooks a left and pulls up outside the local coffee shop, a cute family owned place painted a pale blue, a surfboard propped up next to the door.

“We can run in if you guys want to wait here,” Allison offers.

Lydia’s still staring out the window so Stiles nods gratefully, reaching into his wallet so he can pass Scott a ten. He and Allison get out and hold hands as they walk down the sidewalk and disappear inside. Stiles leans back in his seat and stifles a yawn, exhaustion throbbing behind his eyes. Lydia’s looking outside, apparently riveted by this sleepy little beach town and Stiles finds himself riveted by her, the way the sun lights up her hair, the tilt of her chin, her perfect human legs curled up on the seat; her battered bandaged feet.

Scott and Allison come out five minutes later, both of them carrying a cup in each hand. Scott passes Stiles his coffee through his open window and opens the door for Allison to get into the backseat before he jumps in after her.

“Here Lydia, this is for you.” Allison leans forward and pushes a green colored smoothie into Lydia’s hand. “Scott said we could get you started on fruit, it’s spinach, banana, green apple and coconut milk.”

Lydia blinks at her and then gives Allison a shy smile, dropping her head a little to purse her lips around the straw. She takes a drink and swallows, licks her lips and reaches out to write on Allison’s skin.

“It’s good?” Allison translates. “You like it?”

Lydia nods and gives Allison another smile before turning back in her seat. She stretches out before bringing the straw back to her mouth and Stiles feels kind of helpless because she looks like a girl in a magazine or an Instagram post, casually dressed, perfectly accessorized and effortlessly gorgeous, shining in the sunlight like she’s been lit by a camera crew or some divine being.

“Stiles, are you good?” Scott asks. “Do you need directions?”

“Nah, if you can navigate me once we get off the highway then I’m good.”

“We better go then, we’re gonna be late.”

Stiles takes a long sip of the red eye Scott got for him, bless him, and shifts the Jeep back into drive.

Lydia seems used to the sensation of being in a moving car by the time he merges onto the highway; she’s leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed behind her sunglasses, head tipped up to the light, her empty smoothie cup dangling from one hand. Allison leans forward between the seats to turn the radio on and they drive north up the coast, the sun shining down on them as Allison sings along to the music.

It’s mostly a straight shot to the clinic; Stiles drives with one hand on the wheel, coffee cup held in the other. The caffeine kicks in and he finally starts to wake up for real as he cruises down the highway, the ocean a glittering gemstone to his left and to his right, Lydia, beautiful and mysterious and made from magic. In the backseat Scott and Allison are stretched out with their legs tangled up, Scott’s face pressed to his cracked open window like a puppy.

The knot of tension Stiles has had in his chest since the night he found Lydia finally settles and he manages to feel calm for an entire twenty minutes until Scott navigates him off the highway and to the clinic where Lydia’s getting checked out. When they get there Melissa’s waiting outside on the sidewalk with a wheelchair and Stiles’ lungs tighten up, thinking about Lydia being examined, hurting, bleeding. 

Afraid.

He parks at the curb and takes a deep breath, unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to give Lydia a big fake-ass smile so she doesn’t catch on to his anxiety, because he wants to be brave, for her.  
He, Scott and Allison get out of the car and Stiles walks around to Lydia’s door and opens it for her. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning into the car to unbuckle her seatbelt. “We’re here. This is Melissa, she’s Scott’s mom and she’s a nurse, that’s um, that’s a kind of healthcare practitioner, she’s going to take you inside and meet with a doctor so they can give you a medical exam, like yesterday with Deaton but they’ll probably, um, do more than Deaton did but it’ll be okay” -

“Stiles, relax.” Melissa puts one hand on his back and gently pushes him to the side so she can stand in front of Lydia. “Hi Lydia, I’m Melissa. I’m going to take you inside and give you a little checkup and make sure you’re healthy, does that sound okay?”

Lydia pushes Allison’s sunglasses up into her hair and blinks at Melissa, her eyes a little watery as she swings her legs around and slides to the edge of her seat. She looks sideways at Scott and back at Melissa, her eyes darting around as she catalogues their features, the matching bronze skin and deep brown eyes. Lydia’s hands twitch in her lap and then she reaches out to Scott, who tentatively holds his arm out for her to take.

“What?” Scott asks her softly. “What is it?”

Lydia writes something on his arm and Scott nods. “Yeah, this is my mom.”

Lydia looks at Melissa again and pulls her hand away from Scott to cover her mouth as she squeezes her eyes closed and turns her face into the headrest. Stiles reaches for her but Melissa beats him to it, leaning into the car to wrap her arms around Lydia and pull her to her.

“It’s alright,” Melissa says gently. “Everything’s okay, lets just all take a breath.”

Lydia rests her cheek on Melissa’s shoulder, her eyes glassy and distant, like she isn’t even here, but then she reaches out with her left arm for him and Stiles lets her pull him in so he’s in a sideways hug, her hand clutching onto his arm as he wraps the other one around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he whispers into her neck. “Really. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

She sniffles, lifting her head enough to look at him. Lydia blinks back tears and gives him a wobbly brave smile and Stiles’ heart clenches in his chest. She releases her grip on his arm and writes out _ready_ across his skin and he can’t help himself, he presses his lips to the side of her head before pulling back to help Melissa get her into the wheelchair.

Melissa gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and takes the handles of the wheelchair, turns it around and begins to steer it inside. They all follow along behind her, the sliding glass doors opening with a soft hiss. They get hit with a blast of air conditioning when they walk inside the lobby; Lydia immediately crosses her arms tightly across her chest and Stiles regrets not thinking of that ahead of time, his red hoodie back at the beach house and therefore useless.

Melissa turns right down a hallway where the exam rooms are. She started working here when Scott went to Davis, she works extra shifts on the weekends for money. At this point Melissa is used to it, Scott coming here after hours with someone who needs medical attention off the record, the same way they used to show up at Beacon Hills Hospital back in high school. They stop in front of exam room three and Melissa pushes open the door, but before Stiles can step into the room Melissa catches him by the elbow.

“You and Scott can go wait in the lobby, I’ll bring her back out when she’s done.” She says it in her classic no-nonsense nurse voice, soft but firm.

“But - but,” he splutters, indignant. “Seriously?”

“The doctor’s going to do _girl_ stuff, Stiles,” Allison says, rolling her eyes a little. “I’ll go in with her, it’ll be fine.”

“Oh, um, okay, that makes sense I guess, just, just tell the doctor to be a little careful ‘cus her legs are still healing and she’s got some bruises on her arms, and make sure they explain everything they’re doing to her because just ‘cus she can’t talk doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand things and I don’t want them to think that she’s stupid or something just because she can’t talk back and oh, she can write! She can write so give her a chance to ask questions, for all we know she’s never had a real medical exam before” -

“Oh my god Stiles, you need to chill.” Allison gives him a look like he’s lost his mind. “It’s just a checkup and I’ll be with her the whole time, don’t worry so much. We’ll be fine, right Lydia?” 

When Stiles looks down at Lydia she’s staring up at him, giving him that brave tenuous smile again. He crouches down next to her and she twists a little to the side to grab his hand and writes out _are you ok?_ on his palm.

“Oh hey, I’m fine,” he says guiltily. “Everything’s okay, I’m sorry. I just get a little nervous about doctors, not that there’s anything to be nervous about, promise! I uh, my mom was sick when I was as a kid, I’ve kinda got a complex about it I guess. But you’re going to be totally fine, Melissa is the best nurse in the history of the world and Allison will be with you the whole time. And Scott and I will be waiting right out there in the lobby so I’ll see you as soon as you’re done, okay?”

Lydia smiles again and strokes soft little circles against his skin for a moment before writing out _okay_ and releasing his hand.

“Okay?” Melissa asks, looking only slightly exasperated. “Are we good here?”

“Yeah.” Stiles squeezes Lydia’s shoulder as he stands up. “We’re good.”

“Don’t worry,” Allison says again. “We’ll see you in a little bit.” She leans over Lydia to give Scott a quick kiss before flashing Lydia a bright smile and reaching down to take her hand.

“Come on.” Scott rests his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “The sooner we let them get started the sooner it’s over.”

Stiles nods reluctantly and lets Scott turn him around to lead him towards the lobby, but he cranes his head back just to watch Lydia get pushed inside the exam room, and then she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me thinking about writing this: this is going to be so fun and cute! Me actually writing this: how do you write Stydia without banter someone please help me.


	5. home away from home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘For when once your shape has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return through the water to your sisters, or to your father’s palace again.’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Stiles and Scott are sitting in the lobby of the clinic when Allison comes out, alone. “Everything’s fine!” she says hurriedly. “Lydia didn’t want to get back in the wheelchair though, Stiles, you wanna come get her?”

He jumps out of his chair and follows Allison back down the hall, Scott trailing after them. In the exam room Lydia’s sitting sideways on the table with her legs dangling over the side. There’s gauze taped to the crook of her elbow and she looks a little glazed over but when she hears him walk in she gives Stiles a shaky smile that sends his head spinning.

“Hey.” He rushes over to her, eyes doing a quick sweep but except for the bandage on her arm she looks unharmed. “You okay?”

She gives him a weary look but nods, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

“She’s fine, perfectly healthy as far as we can tell.” Melissa takes a sheath of papers and pushes them into Scott’s waiting hands. “Meal plan, supplement plan, food introduction plan, immune support plan. We took blood just in case, I’ll let you know when we hear back from the lab but so far everything looks normal.”

“Thanks Mom.” Scott skims through the papers before glancing at Stiles. “Ready to go?”

Stiles holds his arms out to her. “Lydia?”

She unclasps her hand to reach up and winds her arms around his neck. Stiles gets his hands under her thighs and scoops her off the table, and Lydia wraps her legs around his waist, her head tucked under his chin. Stiles follows Scott and Allison through the clinic and back outside, the sun warm on his face. He manages to dig his keys out of his pocket without losing his grip on Lydia and unlocks the Jeep. Scott gets the passenger door open for him and Stiles sets Lydia down on the seat. It takes her an extra second to pull away, turning her head so her hair falls across her face as she swings her legs into the car.

By the time Stiles gets in the driver’s seat Lydia already has her seatbelt on and Allison’s sunglasses have been slid over her eyes. In the backseat Scott and Allison are leaned into each other, whispering as Scott flips through the papers Melissa gave him. Stiles buckles up, slides his Wayfarers over his face and turns the engine over, checks his mirrors, and pulls the Jeep out onto the street.

This time Lydia seems unaffected by the movement of the car; when he glances sideways at her she’s leaning towards the window, her freshly bandaged feet crossed under her. He turns up the radio and follows the signs to get back on the highway, tapping his fingers against the wheel along to the rhyme of the bass. It scares him a little at how comfortable he feels with Lydia in the seat next to him, how natural it seems for her to be here. He knows Scott’s probably right, that he should be careful, shouldn’t let himself get attached to her so quickly like this, but he can’t seem to help himself.

He’s never felt like this before, like he’s the luckiest man in the universe just to witness the miracle that Lydia is, this rare magical being who’s beautiful and brave and now, human.

Like him.

When he gets off the highway Allison leans forward between the seats. “Want to stop at the cafe and grab lunch? We can eat it back at the house, maybe lie out after?”

“Sounds good,” Stiles agrees, absently thinking that nothing sounds better than eating a burger and then taking a long nap.

He and Lydia stay in the car while Allison and Scott run in to get food for everyone, the Jeep idling at the curb outside the cafe. Lydia shifts sideways in her seat and turns towards him, opens her mouth and then shuts it, reaches her hand out and then drops it down to her lap.

“Hey.” Stiles holds his hand out to her. “What’s up?”

She presses her lips together, hesitating before she takes his hand and traces her finger across his palm. _What now?_

“Well, we go home, eat some food, lay out and enjoy the fact that the beach is basically in our backyard, sound good?”

She frowns and jabs her finger against his palm. _What now?_

“Um, oh, like in general? Like with you?”

Lydia nods, looking worried, her fingers tapping mindlessly against his hand.

“Okay,” he muses. “Well, it’s summer, so we’re all on vacation for the most part, meaning we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. I think first thing on the agenda would be helping you get the hang of walking, that should help right, being able to move on your own? I’d be frustrated as shit if I couldn’t walk around, that must be getting old, huh?”

She nods, her expression softening, fingertips light on his skin. _Yeah._

“I’m sorry.” He thinks about how absolutely helpless he would feel, if he couldn’t talk or move on his own, couldn’t defend himself or communicate clearly. “Look, I can't even imagine how hard this must all be for you but I hope you know that you’re safe with us, okay? We won’t let anything happen to you.”

She leans forward a little, smiling just enough for a dimple in her cheek to appear. _I know._

“Okay. Good, that’s good. And once we get you walking we can do some research, see if we can find any magic that’s similar to the spell your witch did, maybe we can deconstruct it.”

Lydia shakes her head frantically, her hand slapping against his. _No witches!_

“Okay, Okay!” Stiles pulls his hand back, wincing. “No witches, got it.”

She slumps over next to him, looking so dejected that it makes him grimace. After a moment Lydia peeks up through her lashes at him and reaches out for his hand but she doesn’t touch him, just leaves her hand hovering in the air until he goes weak and lets their fingers brush, offering his permission to touch again. She takes his hand back immediately and writes out _you have magic here?_

“Yeah, well, kind of. Magic is - kind of a secret here. Not everyone knows it exists, and honestly we try not to mess with it if we can avoid it, we’ve uh… it’s not all rainbows and unicorns, you know?”

She nods wisely and then raises a curious eyebrow. _What happened?_

“What do you mean?”

_To you. Magic?_

He swallows, feeling a little shaky. “We uh, had an experience with, um, some dark magic when we were younger.”

_Bad magic?_

“Yeah.” He tries to ignore the way his hand has gone cold, hoping it’s just him and that she can’t feel it, the rush of panic under his skin. “It was bad.”

She moves closer to him and Stiles almost can’t breathe so he tries to focus on her instead, the concern flooding her green eyes, the flame of her hair, the softness of her fingers against his palm. 

_What happened?_ she writes, her fingers so gentle he feels like he’s going to cry.

“I’ll tell you another time.” He tries to keep his voice steady. “Would that be okay?”

Lydia nods, her eyes fixed on his. He feels a little floaty, overwhelmed by her and hyper aware of the thud of his heart, the tingling in his fingers, all the little signs that point to an impending panic attack but he can’t do that right now, not with her next to him alone in the car, he can’t scare her like that.

The door to the backseat opens and he jumps, he’d forgotten about Scott and Allison, who are climbing into the car with a big white paper bag stamped with the cafe’s logo. “Hey,” Allison says cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

Stiles runs a shaking hand down his face, pulling away from Lydia. “Hey, yeah.”

“Hang on.” Scott leans forward, resting his hand on the back of Stiles’ seat. “Everything okay?”

Stiles nods, afraid that whatever he says will register as a lie. Scott sighs and slides his hand over to his shoulder. “No rush,” he says quietly. “Just breathe.”

Stiles nods again and closes his eyes for a second, focusing on the warmth of Scott’s hand bleeding through his tee shirt. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, feeling a little more centered. “Okay, I’m good.”

Scott squeezes his shoulder and leaves his hand where it is until Stiles has checked all his mirrors and pulled out of his parking space. It only takes them ten minutes to get back to the house; Stiles parks in the empty driveway and pockets his keys before getting out and jogging around the front of the car to get Lydia. She reaches out for him as soon as he opens her door and Stiles lifts her out of the Jeep, the move so familiar already, the weight of her in his arms solid and comforting.

Lydia sighs, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and he shivers when her fingers slide up his neck and into his hair. Scott gets the front door open and Stiles follows him and Allison inside through the foyer and turns left into the main room.

“Here, why don’t you take her to the bathroom and I can help Lydia get changed?” Allison offers. 

“Sure.” Stiles follows her down the hall past the kitchen and carries Lydia through his room into the bathroom.

He sets her down on the counter next to the sink and Lydia unwinds her body from his, looking up to give him a small grateful smile. He smiles back, moving around Allison to let her through. Allison raises an eyebrow at him, like she can feel it too, that invisible string between him and Lydia, keeping him in the room, like he’s tied to her.

“Stiles, why don’t you help Scott take the food out and we’ll meet you outside,” she suggests.

“Yeah, sure, okay.” He’s grateful for someone to tell him what to do because he feels like he could stand here forever, just looking at Lydia like an idiot, that invisible string wrapping around his heart and pulling tight.

He forces himself to leave before he can feel totally awkward, shutting the bathroom door gently behind him. He kicks off his shoes and steps out of his jeans, pulls an old pair of maroon lacrosse shorts out of his dresser and tugs them on before wandering into the kitchen, where Scott’s stacking containers of food on the island.

“Hey man,” Scott greets him. “I can take this if you bring the water?”

“Sure.” Stiles takes their Brita filter out of the fridge and grabs a stack of cups from the cabinet. “We know where Kira and Malia went?”

Scott nods, picking up the stack of containers. “Kira left a note, they went to that street fair on the boardwalk.”

“Oh, cool.” Stiles nods his chin, arms full, and Scott leads the way through the living room, using his elbow to get the sliding glass door open.

Stiles follows him outside, shaking his head until his sunglasses slide out of his hair and down his nose. He sets the Brita pitcher down at the center of the round table and pours waters for everyone before sinking down onto one of the cushioned chairs. Scott sits down across from him and passes Stiles a container, when he pops the lid open there’s a burger on a pretzel bun inside with a hearty side of curly fries.

“Awesome,” Stiles sighs, reaching across the table to snag a few ketchup packets out of the carry out bag.

Scott picks up his grilled chicken sandwich with one hand and tilts his head back, closing his eyes against the sun. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” Stiles dunks a fry in ketchup and folds it into his mouth.

“Before,” Scott clarifies. “In the car. You were” -

Stiles swallows quickly and coughs into one fist. “I’m fine.”

Scott cracks one doubtful eye open. “What happened?”

“Lydia asked if we had magic,” Stiles explains.

Scott’s eyes go wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you” -

“No,” Stiles says quickly.

Scott nods and stretches back in his chair. “You could. Like, if you wanted to.”

Stiles swallows, his throat feels too tight. “I never even talked about it with Heather.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Guess I never really saw the point. It’s not like she would’ve been able to understand. It would’ve just scared her.”

“Lydia might,” Scott says tentatively.

“Might what?”

“Understand.”

Something in his stomach twists. “It’s not the same thing. She, she asked for a spell, she agreed to it. And she didn’t hurt anyone with it. Except herself I guess.”

Scott’s picking at the crust of his sandwich. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles sighs. “I know.”

“Just saying.”

“Scott, I really don’t feel like talking about this.”

“Okay.” Scott lifts his hands in the universal gesture for _backing off now._ “I just think…”

“What?”

Scott shrugs. “Maybe knowing she isn’t the only one who’s had a bad experience with magic might make her feel less alone.”

Stiles thinks about Lydia smacking her hand against his when he brought up researching magic, the fear it brought out in her, _no witches!_. “Yeah, maybe,” he hedges.

He’s rescued from further interrogation by the appearance of Lydia and Allison, both of them in swimsuits. Allison’s wearing a sporty blue two piece and Lydia’s in a black one piece that dips so low in the front that it exposes a generous amount of pale cleavage. He looks away quickly before he can get caught staring but then Allison places Lydia down in the chair right next to him and all he can see is white skin, the exposed flesh of her thighs, the sweep of her hair, the sun glinting off her borrowed sunglasses as she stretches out and tips her head up to the sky.

Allison plops down next to Scott and leans over to kiss his cheek, one hand running affectionately through his hair before she picks up a container and passes it across the table to Lydia. “Here, we got you a salad,” Allison tells her. “Scott, did you download that app yet?”

“Oh yeah.” Scott digs his phone out of his pocket and starts tapping away at the screen. “What’d we get in that, chicken?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” Allison covers her mouth as she chews, her sandwich held in one hand as she leans to the side to look at Scott’s phone.

“What app?” Stiles takes a huge bite of his burger and groans, he hadn't realized how hungry he was.

“Mom wants us to track what she eats, in case she has an allergic reaction to something we’ll have a record and this works out her macros so we know what to give her, I guess humans have different nutritional needs than mermaids,” Scott explains.

Next to Stiles Lydia is sitting quietly, doing that head tilt thing he knows means she’s listening to every word they’re saying. He taps her shoulder gently to get her attention and then points to her food. “Here, go ahead.”

She gives him a quick smile, teeth flashing, and pops open the lid of her salad. They all end up doing that thing again, staring at Lydia as she picks up a plastic fork and spears a few salad leaves like it’s some fascinating task they’ve never seen before. After a minute Scott kicks him lightly under the table and Stiles kicks back before picking up his burger. Across the table Allison’s half out of her chair so her legs can stretch out across Scott’s lap, his arm curved over her shoulders. 

Stiles glances sideways at Lydia; she’s watching Scott and Allison while she eats, chin tipped down so she can observe them over the edge of her sunglasses. After a minute Lydia shifts in her chair so she’s closer to him, her bare knee brushing his thigh. Stiles tries not to startle at the casual touch but Lydia acts like she doesn’t notice, her legs so short her toes barely brush the deck as she continues to eat. He experiments, leans a little into her space so her knee is pressed firmly against his leg, but all she does is tilt her head and offer him a small closed lip smile.

When they all finish eating Allison grins and arches back, her head turned up to the sun. “This is great, let's stay out all afternoon.”

Scott tugs her into him by the wrists and kisses her cheek. “I’m gonna go for a run I think.”

Stiles yawns. “I gotta take a nap, five hours of sleep was not enough.”

“Here, why don’t you and Lydia get set up on the deck chairs and I’ll run in and grab sunscreen,” Allison offers. 

Stiles turns to Lydia but she’s already there, arms outstretched, and he has one of those moments again where the enormity of it hits him - her trust in him, her dependence, how her entire life is in their hands now - she has no family, no money, legally speaking she doesn’t even exist. He can feel a headache developing at the base of his skull, he’s going to have to ask Danny if he can find a way to get her an ID, build some kind of identity for her.

He jumps when he feels Lydia’s hand on his thigh, Scott and Allison are carrying their trash into the house and Lydia’s still sitting there, waiting for him to pick her up. She’s leaning forward in her chair, arms dropped as her fingers trace letters that tickle against his wrist. _Okay?_

“Hey, yeah, sorry, I’m just tired, here.” Stiles slides his hands under her arms and Lydia shifts off her chair and right into his lap.

Her knees bracket his hips, her hands gripping his shoulders to keep her balance and his head spins at this - a lapful of Lydia, so much warm exposed skin pressed right up against his body. He stares at her but all he sees is the reflection of his own face in the lenses of her sunglasses, an amused little smile on her face and he realizes she did this intentionally, pushed herself right into his lap and he doesn’t know what to do; his hands still under her arms, waiting for some kind of cue from her that doesn’t come.

Instead she creeps her hands up his shoulders around to the back of his neck as she leans forward slowly, so they’re chest to chest, and drops her head down to his shoulder.

Stiles is almost too afraid to move, this is the most affectionate display she’s shown him since he found her, but after a moment, when she doesn’t move, he tentatively puts his arms around her, shocked by the smooth skin of her back, the delicate line of her spine, the rise and fall of her rib cage as she breathes.

“Hey,” he whispers, feeling like he could fall asleep right here, with the warm weight of her on top of him and the warmth of the sun on his face.

She slides one hand down to his arm. _Hey._

“Okay?”

She nods into his shoulder, the fingers of the hand on his neck brushing idle circles over his skin.

“You worn out from this morning? Doctor visits can be kind of stressful.”

She nods again, her nose rubbing against his collarbone.

“Alright, c’mon, lets get comfy.” He sits up a little so he can get a tighter grip on her and Lydia loops her legs around his waist as he hauls them up, trying to ignore the fact that his hands are basically cupping her ass as he carries her across the deck where they have chaise lounges set up facing the water. He drops Lydia down gently onto one of the chairs and sits down on the one to her left. He immediately flips over on his stomach and flops down, arms dangling over the sides. Lydia crosses her legs and pushes her sunglasses up into her hair, looking small and pensive as she stares out at the ocean.

Allison comes back outside brandishing a tube of sunscreen, a few paperbacks wedged under her arm. She drops the books down on the lounge chair to Lydia’s right before sitting down next to her, untwisting the cap of the sunscreen.

“We’ve gotta put this on your skin so you don’t burn,” she explains. 

Lydia twists sideways to shoot Stiles a look of mild alarm, he reaches out lazily with his left hand to pat her knee but she’s too far away, he ends up pushing himself up to sit.

“Yeah, trust me, you don’t want a sunburn,” he says, wondering at her fair skin, how much sun exposure she’s had, if any. “Guess that’s something you didn’t have to worry about before, huh?”

Lydia turns her face up to the sky and pouts a little, like she’s been betrayed by the sun in some way, but then she relaxes and lets Allison turn her around so she’s facing Stiles. Allison slides the straps of the swimsuit down Lydia’s shoulders before squeezing sunscreen into her palms and rubbing them together. Stiles is frozen, trying desperately not to stare as Allison smooths her hands over Lydia’s back, working the sunscreen into her skin while Lydia sits perfectly still, holding her hair up with one hand so Allison can get the back of her neck.

“Stiles, you want this when I’m done?” Allison asks.

He stares at her hands sweeping up and down Lydia’s shoulders. “Huh?”

Allison rolls her eyes and dots sunscreen down Lydia’s arms. “Enjoying the show?”

“Oh my god,” he hisses, and flops back down on his chair, burying his head in his arms.

Allison laughs. “This is going to be fun.”

“Don’t mock me,” he whines, turning his head to the side so his cheek is pillowed on his forearm.

Lydia’s looking between both of them, confused, her hands rubbing sunscreen down her shins while Allison finishes her back. “Head’s up,” Allison says, and tosses the tube to him.

He fumbles but manages to catch it, putting it down so he can pull his shirt off. He squirts sunscreen into his hands and tries not to feel completely insecure as he rubs it over his chest, aware of Lydia perched only a foot away, leaned back on her elbows, the paleness of her skin stark against the dark fabric of the swimsuit. He watches her in a daze as he puts on more sunscreen, stunned by the lines of her body as she stretches out her legs and crosses one ankle over the other. Allison goes back to her chair on Lydia’s other side and sits cross legged, picking up one of the books and holding it out to Lydia.

“Do you want a book?” Allison offers. “We have a whole shelf of beach reads in the library, me and my mom used to…” 

Something in Stiles’ chest twinges as Allison looks away, reaching up to twist her hair back in a knot on the top of her head. “We used to collect them,” Allison finished, sounding only a little shaky. “I’ve been coming here during the summer since I was a kid.”

If Lydia thinks Allison sounds strange she doesn’t make a fuss about it, or maybe she’s just fully distracted by the book - she takes it and clutches it in her hands before pushing her sunglasses up into her hair to examine the cover.

Stiles leans over curiously and laughs in derision when he reads the title. “Really Allison?”

She makes a face at him. “Face it Stiles, The Notebook is a romantic classic.”

“What’s so romantic about” -

“Shh, don’t spoil it!” Allison looks pointedly at Lydia, who’s sitting there quietly with the patient look of a child who’s waiting for her parents to stop arguing.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and lies back down. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“Take a nap,” Allison suggests. “No offense but you sound kind of just a little bit cranky right now.”

“None taken,” he mutters, feeling so tired he could melt right through his chair.

He blinks heavy eyelids a few times, sleepily watching Lydia lean back and open the book to the first page. After a moment she shifts the book to her right hand and stretches her left arm over the edge of her chair, stretching out her hand until her fingers land on his elbow. He waits, expecting her to write out a word but she just leaves her hand where it is. After a few seconds he relaxes into it and lets his eyes shut, the sun beating down on his back as warm as the heat of Lydia’s hand on his arm. He inhales the fresh ocean air and the strong smell of coconut from the sunscreen and exhales slowly, getting that heavy feeling in his body, all his muscles relaxing, and falls asleep to the feeling of Lydia’s fingers idly sweeping back and forth over his skin.

When he wakes up he’s alone and the sun is no longer overhead, the sky is turning that incredible shade of swirling pink and orange, he must have slept the whole afternoon. He stretches and rolls off his chair, scoops up his tee shirt and pulls it over his head. He rubs his eyes and stumbles across the deck, pulls open the sliding door and goes inside. Kira and Malia are back, they’re in the kitchen with Scott and Allison digging through a big paper bag on the island.

“Hey!” Malia calls out to him. She looks extra tan and her hair is half falling out of its ponytail. “We brought back tacos.”

“Yes,” he groans, walking through the living room. “That sounds amazing.”

Allison is shaking tortilla chips into a huge ceramic bowl. “Where’s Lydia?”

Stiles trips right over the edge of the rug and almost falls flat on his face. “What?”

Allison blanches. “She isn’t with you?”

“No, I though she came in with you!”

Allison shakes her head and puts down the bag of chips. “She wanted to stay out with you, we were just about to come get you guys.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles stumbles backwards, Scott leaps off his stool and grabs him by the elbow.

“Hey, she couldn’t have gone far,” Scott says calmly. “Did you look for her outside?”

“No, I, I just woke up, she wasn’t on the deck so I figured she came in with Allison.”

“Okay, come on.” Scott leads him back through the living room and out onto the deck.

Stiles scans the empty chairs as he rushes over to the railing to look out over the beach. He almost collapses in relief when he sees Lydia’s hair shining all the way from where she’s sitting on the sand at the edge of the water.

“Jesus,” Scott mutters. “How’d she get all the way down there when she can’t walk?”

“She must have dragged herself,” Stiles realizes.

“You should go down there,” Scott says. “She’s probably freaking out. Like, wouldn’t you be freaking out if you were her? Like, holy shit, imagine it in _reverse_ , imagine waking up under water with a _tail_ and all these other people with tails are like, hey dude you’re a merman now, and so you live with strangers who are basically a different _species_ than you, like, seriously, the more I think about it the more fucked up it is.”

“Yeah.” Stiles looks out at the beach, Lydia looking tiny and helpless in front of the water. “I’m gonna go get her.”

“Okay.” Scott sighs and raps his knuckles against the railing. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Stiles walks to the far side of the deck and jogs down the steps onto the sand. It’s warm under his feet as he walks towards her, waves crashing and receding inches from her bare toes. 

“Lydia!” he calls out, but she doesn’t turn around.

He makes his way over to her and lowers himself to sit crossed legged on the sand, leaving a few feet between them. Lydia’s legs are stretched out in front of her, coated in sand, and she’s hunched over, arms wrapped protectively around her stomach. She’s crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stares out over the water, the sun huge and glowing at the edge of the horizon.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Lydia flinches and turns her head away, tucking her chin against her shoulder.

“Lydia c’mon,” he coaxes. “Just tell me why you’re crying.”

She whips her head around to glare at him and Stiles shrinks back. “Sorry, sorry, that was a stupid choice of words,” he says meekly.

She wipes her eyes with the edge of her hand, her lips pressed together. She looks sideways at him and then away again, tears clinging to her eyelashes.

“Lydia,” he says helplessly. 

Her face crumples, Stiles reaches out tentatively to pat her shoulder and when she doesn’t pull away he carefully wraps his arm around her shoulders. 

“Hey,” he whispers, scooting closer to her. “Hey, okay, I’m here, you’re okay.”

She lets out a sound that sounds like a choked sob and pounds one fist down on the sand. He tightens his arm around her and she does it again, slams her hand down, particles of sand flying across her legs. Stiles doesn’t know what to do so he just holds onto her as she rages, feeling her shake against him until she runs out of steam and collapses into him, breathing raggedly into his chest.

Stiles shifts so he can wrap both arms around her. “You feel better now?”

She nods, her cheek rubbing against his shirt.

He slides his hand up her bare back, fingers tripping over her vertebrae. “You want to explain what that was about?”

He feels her sigh but after a moment she pulls away enough to lift her head, strands of hair sticking to her wet cheeks. His arms are still looped around her and she shifts so she’s snuggled against his side before leaning forward to sweep her arms across the sand, smoothing it out. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and glassy, points to the ocean and then writes out the word _home_ in the sand.

“Oh, Lydia,” he murmurs, his heart aching for her. 

She points to the water again and then drags her hand across through the sand so the word _home_ is striked out.

“I’m sorry,” he says thickly. “But that isn’t your home anymore.”

She gives him an anguished look and nods, tears spilling out of the corners of her eyes. He reaches up slowly and cups her face in his hands, her eyes squeeze shut in response and when he wipes her tears away with his thumbs she shudders with her whole body, her bottom lip trembling.

“Listen,” he whispers. “This is your home now. I know it’s gonna take you some time to adjust, and that’s okay. You’re allowed to be sad.” 

She sighs and drops her head down to his shoulder for a moment before leaning forward to dip her finger into the sand. _I’m not all the time._

“No?”

She shakes her head, something in her expression going laser focused. She brushes the sand off her hands and then slowly, her touch so light it almost doesn’t feel real, she lays her hand flat on his chest, right over his heart.

“Lydia,” he whispers.

 _You_ , she mouths, his heart thundering under her palm.

“I… make you not sad?” he asks tentatively.

She presses her lips together and nods, so serious looking, and reaches down to smooth the sand out with her hand. She points at the water, where the sun is starting to set, the sky on fire, and writes out _I’ve never seen a sunset from above the water before._

“You wanna stay out until it sets?” he asks.

She nods, looking a little pleading, like he might say no, and it freaks him out, the realization that she’d probably do anything he told her to.

“Of course,” he says, and pulls her close to him. “Whatever you want.”

She looks up to give him a tentative smile and then drops her head down to his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “I know that this has been painful and scary and just, totally messed up, and I’m so sorry you went through everything you went through, but just so you know - I’m glad you’re here. I like having you here.”

She doesn’t move and for a few seconds he panics, fearing he’s gonna too far, but then Lydia drops her hand back to the sand and writes out _I like you too_ , and he feels so warm it’s like the sun is shining right over his head instead of sinking down below the horizon in a glorious blaze of dazzling light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me awhile to update, I’m currently juggling a few WIP’s but I’m still working on this!


	6. the girl who walked out of the ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Stiles wakes up to the sensation of being watched, the skin on the back of his neck tingling. He rolls over onto his other side and Lydia’s right there, tucked under the crisp white sheet next to him, creamy skin glowing in the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Hey,” he croaks, reaching up to shove his hair out of his face.

She mouths back _hey_ and gives him a shy smile that makes his stomach swoop up into his lungs, tilting her face slightly into the pillow while looking up at him through her eyelashes, her expression soft and just a little coy, and he feels like maybe he’s seeing a bit of the real Lydia, the person she was before all of this happened, a young woman who’s playful, maybe even flirtatious, confident and sure of herself.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

_Okay,_ she mouths.

“Yeah? Sleep okay?”

She nods, the lock of hair that slides down around her shoulder shimmering in the sunlight like it’s shot through with gold. Last night when they’d gone to bed she’d pointed right at his door as he’d carried her on his back down the hall and then convinced him into staying up for two hours watching more Friends just by smiling and pointing to his laptop. She’d fallen asleep before the last episode ended and he’d stayed awake for a long time after he turned off his computer, lying in the dark next to her listening to her breathe, waiting for the terrible airless gasping choke that never came.

His phone vibrates on the nightstand; Stiles turns around and picks it up to read a text from Scott. “You hungry? The others are making breakfast.”

Lydia cranes her head to look curiously at his phone, one hand crawling across the mattress to find his wrist and trace _what is that?_ over his skin. 

“Oh! This is a phone, do you know what a phone is?”

Lydia sticks out her thumb and pinkie and curls her other fingers into her palm, brings her hand up to her ear and widens her eyes comically as she mimes talking, looking so much like a sassy teenage girl in a commercial that it’s a little freaky, before dropping her hand and grinning proudly.

“Right.” Stiles swallows down a laugh at the idea of it, Lydia as an insipid popular teenager. “Humans use them to talk to each other.”

A look of confusion spreads over her face and Lydia points to the locked screen of his cell, holds her hand out in front of her face, puts it back down and twists her mouth to the side before jabbing at the phone again, and writes _Scott?_ over his palm.

“Scott… oh, how did I know what Scott said when he didn’t talk into the phone?”

She nods vigorously and Stiles sits up a little, leaning closer to her. “Okay, so originally phones were just designed to let people talk to each other. But now they’re basically tiny computers.” He points to his laptop. “That’s a computer too. They can do all kinds of things, including sending text messages. It’s generally the preferred method of communication for people our age because we all have social anxiety and you know what, nevermind, here, I’ll show you.”

He opens up his text thread with Scott to show her the last message Scott sent him: _hey, the girls are making pancakes, you guys up?_

Lydia’s eyes light up as she reaches for the phone, glancing at him for permission. 

“Oh, hang on,” he says, and opens up his notes app. “Here, try this, it’s like a digital notebook, you can type in anything, here, see, tap it and the keyboard comes up.”

Her eyes get huge as she takes the phone from him, leaning her shoulder against his as her fingers hover above the screen for a minute before she taps out _hi._

He bumps his shoulder gently against hers. “Hi.”

She glances sideways at him, looking a little suspicious. _How does this work? Magic?_

“No,” he laughs. “Although it does kind of seem like magic. It’s tech. Technology. Science.”

She raises one eyebrow and Stiles raises one right back at her, his mind spinning with a million questions. “Do you… do you guys have scientists down there? Where you lived? Sorry, I don’t want to be like, speciesist, I guess? I mean, you can read, you’re smart, oh my god, do you have school? Or like, an education system? I’m not trying to imply that you’re like, uncivilized, I’m just realizing I have absolutely no idea how mermaid society works.”

She exhales loudly, puffing out her lips a little as she stares down at the phone screen. She starts to type something, deletes it and starts over, her fingers tapping against the screen as she types out a whole block of text and holds out the phone for him to read:

_Things are different under the surface. My parents left when I was very young. I had sisters, they taught me to read. Before they left too. We don’t live like humans, all together. There aren’t many of us anymore. The black waves come. Entire villages get sick and die. It’s why I swam here, when I was alone. The water is cleaner here. I used to come up to the surface and watch people._

Stiles gnaws on his bottom lip for a second, thinking of what Scott said, that Jackson’s been coming here over the summer with his parents for years. Wondering if she used to watch him when she was a mermaid, all alone, if that’s how this all started.

“That must have been lonely,” he finally says, cautious, this is the most she’s opened up about who she is, what her life was like before she became human.

She goes a little rigid next to him and shrugs as she looks away, giving him a very clear _drop it_ vibe. She spins the phone around in her palms, running her fingers over the edges, the home button, the headphone jack. _What makes it work?_

“Oh man.” He turns his head to each side to stretch his neck a little. “Okay, if you’re super interested in this Danny’s really the one to ask, he’s one of our other friends, he’s coming up here with Isaac in a few days. The short answer is that it processes information, the actual details of how that works is kind of complicated. But basically, okay, do you know what electricity is?”

She cocks her head thoughtfully and types out _lights?_

“Right, that’s something humans use electricity for. But we use it to power most of our stuff, it’s basically an electrical current that gives devices power, and then we use these things called chargers that plug into an electrical outlet in the wall, and the electricity flows through the cord into the device and that’s how it stays on.”

He points to his phone charger curled on the nightstand under an outlet. Lydia leans past him, one arm outstretched towards the wall like she might touch it or god forbid actually stick her finger into the outlet, and Stiles grabs her wrist without even thinking about it to pull her hand away. “Don’t!”

She cowers, dropping her head down and yanking her arm out of his grasp to cover most of her face so all he can see are her eyes, blinking rapidly at him, and her trembling bottom lip.

“Lydia, hey, it’s okay, shit, I’m so sorry. You can’t touch it, the electricity could go into your body and hurt you, that’s all, I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t mean to yell.”

She unfolds a little, her big eyes welling up with tears. It pains him to do it but Stiles forces himself to wait her out, resisting the urge to gather her up in his arms and crush her to his chest because if she’s really going to learn how to trust him it should be on her own terms. So he lays there and waits for her to realize he isn’t going to hurt her, that he’s not mad, and eventually she relaxes a little and picks up the phone where she dropped it on the bedspread. She types something out and pushes the phone into his hands, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He sighs heavily when he reads what she typed: _your world is dangerous_. A statement, not a question. He scrolls back up a little at what she typed before, the part about _the black waves_ , she must mean oil spills. He remembers what Deaton told them, how mermaids are dying out partly due to pollution. He wonders if that was part of the appeal to her, the human world, that on the surface everything must have looked perfect, a utopia: happy families on vacation, beautiful tan people in bright clothing, pastel colored drinks with tiny paper umbrellas, music, twinkling lights. She has no idea how things work here, all the risks she’s taking on, just by choosing to change into a human.

His head spins a little, thinking of all the darkness the human world holds, a million little nightmares waiting for her when she learns about all the horrors they live alongside every day: the threat of nuclear war, cancer, terrorism, mass shootings. 

“Yeah, it can be,” he concedes. “But... it’s beautiful too.”

She gives him a doubtful look and he sighs, holding his arm out to her. She hesitates but then she slides closer to him so he can wrap it around her shoulders and the touch seems to ground her, she leans up against him and tilts her head down to rest it on his shoulder. He cups his hand around her upper arm and runs his thumb back and forth, feeling it when she shivers against him. He tries to pull his thoughts together so he can tell her something reassuring, something to make her feel better, because it’s too much, she doesn’t need this on top of everything else, to be afraid of their world when she hasn’t even had a chance to really experience it.

“Lydia, there are so many amazing things about our world that you don’t know about yet, things that make being here totally worth it. Yeah, we have scary things too, but that’s just part of life. That’s what it means to be human, I guess. Light and dark are all mixed up, that’s just how things are. You can’t have one without the other. So you find the good stuff and you hold onto it, and when the world seems too big and too scary you focus on those things. The good things.”

She’s watching him with those big eyes and his heart contracts at the fear in her expression. She takes the phone from him and writes _what kinds of things?_

He exhales, staring at her face, her perfect glowing skin and shimmering hair and full parted lips. “Lots of things.”

She rolls her eyes and pokes him right in the chest. _Like what,_ she mouths, a searching expression on her face and he realizes all of a sudden just how close they are, her face mere inches from his, how she’s depending on him, to make this better, give her a reason to not be afraid. She licks her lips, still waiting for him to answer her, and he thinks of yesterday, her hand on his chest, tears clinging to her eyelashes, her hand writing letters in the sand, _I like you too._

There’s heat pooling in his stomach and his heart is beating so hard it makes his chest hurts and oh god, he wants to do something to make her smile again, give her something to make her feel good, like kiss her, he wants to kiss her so badly that he has to pull away just to put some space between them before he completely loses his mind.

“Well, pancakes for one,” he says lightly, and flips the blanket back to get out of bed. “C’mon, time for breakfast.”

He pulls on a clean tee shirt and texts Scott that they’re coming out, slides his phone in the pocket of his lacrosse shorts and turns around to get Lydia, who’s standing on the edge of the bed in her borrowed mesh shorts and Allison’s burgundy Beacon Hills High School LAX team tee that used to be Scott’s a million years ago, the color faded and the sleeves cut off. 

Stiles walks up to her and she holds her arms out so she can loop them around his neck; he slides his hands under her thighs and she bounces off the bed a little so she can swing her legs around his waist. They’re eye level like this, so close the tips of their noses almost touch, and then she drops her head down to his shoulder, pushing her face right into the base of his neck and he exhales a little sharply at that, hiking her up his body a little, her heels digging into his back until he finds his balance.

“Okay?” he asks.

She nods into the collar of his shirt, her nose tickling his throat. He carries her out of his bedroom and down the hall, trying so hard not to be overwhelmed by this, still, the warmth of her body in his arms, the soft puff of her breath on his skin, the depth of his responsibility to protect her. She’s relaxed against him, legs dangling in the air, head rested against his shoulder like a princess used to being carried, too precious for something so mundane as walking across the floor.

In the kitchen Allison is carrying a huge stack of pancakes over to the island where Malia and Kira are perched on stools while Scott slices the stems off a bunch of strawberries over the sink. “Hey,” he greets them. “We’ve got coffee.”

“You’re the best.” Stiles deposits Lydia on the stool across the island from Kira and walks over next to Scott to pour himself a fresh mug.

“Here, these are for Lydia.” Scott passes him the bowl of strawberries. “I’m gonna make scrambled eggs, she can have some.”

“She can’t have pancakes?”

“Not yet, we don’t know if she’s allergic.”

Stiles gapes at him as he opens the fridge and grabs the creamer. “But - but pancakes are delicious.”

“Yeah, and they have wheat and eggs and milk in them, none of which she’s eaten before, and if on the off chance she does have some kind of allergic reaction we won’t know which thing is causing it. We have to do it one at a time and try to space them out a little, it’s a whole thing, people do it with babies when they’re transitioning to solid foods. She did fine with chicken yesterday so eggs today, and if she’s all good tomorrow we can give her toast, we gotta start slow.”

Stiles glances back at Lydia, who’s sitting quietly on her stool watching Malia and Kira spread syrup all over their pancakes. “Sucks for Lydia,” he says quietly.

“It’ll get easier. Besides, better to do it this way then give her everything at once and make  
her sick,” Scott points out.

Stiles pours a little cream into his mug. “Yeah I guess you’re right.”

He carries the bowl of strawberries over to the island and puts them down in front of Lydia before hopping up onto the stool next to her. “Here, these are for you. Sorry, Scott says you can’t have any pancakes yet but he’s gonna make you some eggs, okay?”

She nods, watching him forlornly as he spears two pancakes on the top of the stack with his fork and transfers them onto his plate.

“Here.” Kira passes him the syrup. “Lydia, how’re you doing?”

Lydia shrugs and stabs at a strawberry with her fork. Allison is leaning up against the counter whispering to Scott, who has his back turned to them as he scrapes eggs around a pan with a spatula. Stiles cuts off a tiny piece of his pancake and scoops it up with his fork, and taps Lydia’s thigh with his knee.

“Here,” he whispers, and passes her the fork before pressing his index finger to his lips.

Her face lights up and Lydia quickly pops it into her mouth before Scott can catch her. She places his fork down on his plate and chews happily, leaning in a little to bump her shoulder against his.

“Good?” he asks quietly.

She smiles, slides her hand onto his thigh and writes out _good._

“Don’t tell Scott,” he whispers. “Unless you start feeling sick, but you only had a bite so you should probably be fine but if your stomach starts to hurt or you feel like your throat is getting tight or if you feel itchy” -

“Dude, that was like the tiniest piece ever, she’ll be fine,” Malia interrupts through a mouthful of food. “You have got to stop worrying so much.”

“Worrying about what?” Scott asks, setting a plate of scrambled eggs down in front of Lydia before moving around to sit down to Stiles’ right.

“Don’t worry about it,” Malia smirks, and Scott rolls his eyes as he reaches for a pancake and slides it onto his plate next to a heaping scoop of scrambled eggs.

“These are so good, Allison,” Stiles says quickly in a desperate attempt to switch the subject, tapping his fork against his plate. “Thanks for cooking.”

“You’re welcome.” Allison sits down across from Scott and leans forward, arms stretched out across the island. “Hey babe, can I try your eggs?”

“Yeah, here.” Scott holds a forkful out to her and pops it right into her mouth for her.

Allison chews, swallows, then practically lays the whole upper half of her body down on the island to get close enough to Scott to kiss him. Stiles rolls his eyes at them as he takes a sip of coffee, used to it by now, Scott and Allison’s constant semi-obnoxious level of affection. Lydia seems rapt though, leaning against his left side to watch Scott literally lick Allison’s lips clean and grin at her like the love struck idiot he is.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Malia says to Lydia. “And the answer is yes. They’re always this gross.”

“Malia,” Kira reprimands softly. 

“What?” Malia shoves a bite of her pancake into her mouth. “It’s true.”

Stiles watches Lydia blinks at Malia like she’s confused before looking back at Scott and Allison, who have returned to their respective sides and are both eating one handed so they can link their free hands together over the island. Lydia purses her lips and drops her head, fingers loosely curled around her fork as she scrapes the tines through her eggs.

Stiles thinks idly as he eats about what Deaton has said when he was here, about mermaids. How easily they fall in love only to have their hearts broken. 

_They’re quite sensitive creatures_

Lydia must have wanted something like that, some idealized version of Scott and Allison. She must have dreamt about being like them, fantasized about morning kisses over breakfast and holding hands and making love on a queen sized bed because why else would she have done it, traded her life and body away for a world where there’s danger everywhere? Why would she have put herself through it, all that agony and pain, unless she really wanted that, the _possibility_ of that?

She must have been so lonely, he thinks, to give everything up for one love, one person who didn’t even want her, who left her naked on the beach to die or drown or be discovered by another boy. It makes him ache, the idea of it, this beautiful strong girl with a big soft heart giving up everything she ever knew, for nothing, when all she wanted was someone to love, and to love her back.

He can’t help himself anymore, he wraps his arm around her back to pull her fully against his side and bends down to kiss the top of her head. She tilts her chin up to look at him and there are stars swimming in her eyes, her lips gently parting as she gives him a look of awed gratitude that makes him feel like he’s going to fall right off his stool, like that was exactly what she needed and she can’t believe he gave it to her.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Okay?” 

Lydia smiles then, slow and small but real, and mouths, _I’m okay._

When breakfast is over Stiles and Allison clear the table and Malia and Kira take over dish duty. Lydia stays perched on her stool watching Scott apprehensively as he takes Stiles’ abandoned stool so he can change the bandages on her feet.

“These are looking so much better,” Scott declares, her feet small and fragile looking as he cradles them in his hands. “I think you could try to walk now if you want to, what do you think?”

Lydia’s eyes meet his across the room and Stiles hurries back across the kitchen to stand behind her. She tilts her head back to look up at him and he settles his hands on her shoulders, stunned all over again at the softness of her skin as she leans back against him. Her hand reaches up to wrap around his wrist for a second, fingers squeezing, and then she writes out _okay._

“Okay. Awesome, let’s do this.” Stiles rubs his hands over her arms for a second and then steps to the side. “Lydia?”

She gives him an incredulous look, like she can’t believe he expects her to jump down from her stool and start walking, just like that. Scott gets down to stand to her left, his hand held palm up to her.

“Come on,” Stiles encourages. “You can do it.”

She presses her lips together and slides to the very edge of the stool, toes pointing down towards the floor. Stiles shifts so he’s in front of her and holds his hands out, ready to catch her. She sucks in a breath and pushes off the stool, wincing as her feet hit the floor but she doesn’t fall.

“Okay?” Stiles watches her anxiously as she wobbles a bit back and forth. “Got it?”

She presses her lips together and nods, her arms slightly held out at her sides, fingertips brushing Scott’s but she doesn’t take his hand, managing to keep her balance. Stiles takes a few steps backwards, arms still held out to her.

“Can you walk to me?” he asks her.

“Ooo, wait, hang on!” Allison squeals, reaching for her phone. “Okay, I’m filming, go! This is so exciting!”

“But no pressure or anything,” Stiles mutters.

“Go Lydia!” Kira cheers from where she’s rinsing off the pan Scott used earlier.

Lydia’s eyes widen a little as she looks around, like she just realized that she has an audience. Stiles can see it, the moment she starts doubting herself, her fingertips balanced lightly against Scott’s hand as she freezes.

“Hey, hey, Lydia.” Stiles takes a step forward so that if she falls it’ll be right into his arms. “You’ve got this. Just look at me. Stay focused. One foot at a time.”

Her eyes return to his and then she gives him a brave smile that makes him feel like he’s bursting inside with pride. She rolls her shoulders back and slowly, slowly, peels her right foot off the floor and lets it hover for a second before she places it down in front of her left foot.

“You did it!” Allison shrieks. “Oh my god, you did it!”

“Allison, let her concentrate,” Scott reprimands gently, his hand still right next to Lydia’s in case she needs it.

“Sorry, I can't help it.” Allison grins. “I’m having a proud mama moment over here.”

“Can you take another step?” Stiles asks. “Are you okay, do your feet hurt?”

She holds her hand out flat, palm down, and tilts it back and forth, _so-so_ , and then lifts her left foot to take a slow careful step, arms outstretched to the sides like a gymnast. This time she doesn’t stop, she immediately picks her right foot up and places it back down in front of her left foot, Scott sliding forward to move with her, one hand hovering behind her back.

“Good job!” Stiles shuffles backwards a few paces. “Can you keep going?”

She exhales sharply, bottom lip firmly held between her teeth, and takes another step, and then another, her eyes focused on him as she tunes out Allison’s cheers and Malia and Kira clapping for her. He keeps moving backwards slowly as she takes one step at a time towards him, until they’ve made it to the edge of the living room, Scott walking in step next to her, arms ready to catch her if she falls backwards. 

“That’s amazing,” Stiles praises her. “You’re doing so good.”

She gives him a shaky smile, her legs beginning to tremble. Stiles stops when he can feel the coffee table against the backs of his knees, hands held out in front of him. “Almost there, keep going.”

She takes one more step forward and her knees give out, she pitches forward into him and Stiles catches her under her arms, bending his knees so he can pick her up. She reaches up to wind her arms around his neck as he gets his hands around her waist. “Hey, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” 

He looks down at her and Lydia’s staring up at him, looking a little freaked out but also relieved, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he slides his arms under her thighs to hold her more securely.

“You did it!” Allison shrieks. “Look how far you got!”

Lydia turns in his arms, her mouth dropping open when she sees that Allison is still in the kitchen. And then a slow prideful smile spreads over her face as Lydia realizes how far she walked, her eyes shining, letting out a breathless barely audible laugh at Kira and Malia, who are doing a victory dance around the kitchen island in her honor.

Something in his chest twinges as Stiles waits for Lydia to get down, start walking again or join in on the dancing, experiment with her new ability to move all on her own, without him, but instead she shifts back so they’re chest to chest, her eyes searching his out.

_I did it,_ she mouths, looking so proud and satisfied with herself that he has to laugh, just at how adorable she is.

“Yeah you did,” he says softly, hiking her up a little as he adjusts his hold on her. “Do you want to get down?”

Her eyes sparkle as she shakes her head and then to his shock she leans in close to press her lips against his cheek before dropping her head down to his shoulder, like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be but here in his arms and Stiles has to shut his eyes against the wave of emotion that hits him, the understanding that right now, in this moment, she’s inexplicably choosing him, choosing this. He tightens his arms around Lydia and breathes against her as everyone cheers around them, celebrating, and when Lydia lifts her head again to look at him, forehead wrinkling up like she’s stunned at how excited everyone is for her, all he can do is smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a legit identity crisis halfway through writing this chapter, I don’t know where all this domestic fluff is coming from!


	7. she loves me, she loves me not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘But if you take away my voice, said the little mermaid, what is left for me?’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

After a few days spent at the house, all of them watching Lydia slowly walk around like a baby deer, wide eyed and wobbly, Allison declares they need to go out to dinner. They spent the whole morning and the early part of the afternoon outside until the clouds set in and they had to move into the living room before it started raining, the girl still in their swimsuits and Scott and Stiles in ancient Beacon Hills lacrosse team shorts.

“It’s Friday night!” she exclaims from where she’s sitting next to Lydia on the couch watching Cruel Intentions on tv. “We need to go out and interact with society.”

“I can’t believe you’re showing her that,” Stiles mutters, stretched out on the loveseat with Malia, who’s curled up in a ball napping with her head on his shins like a cat. 

“We’ve already watched Pretty Woman and The Notebook.”

Stiles gapes at her. “Are you trying to educate her or corrupt her?”

Lydia isn’t paying any attention, riveted to the screen, and Allison cackles, looking pleased with herself. “Education, obviously, isn’t the second part your job?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” he yelps, and Lydia shoots him a quizzical look before turning back to the movie.

“I’ll look up Captains’ menu and see if they have anything Lydia can eat,” Kira offers, whipping out her phone.

“Ooo, yeah, let’s do that, I’m totally in the mood for some tequila,” Allison says. Captains’ is the town’s oldest and most popular restaurant, it’s right on the water with an amazing view and even better margaritas. 

“Oh, they have like five different fish entrees,” Kira announces brightly, scrolling down the screen. “And salads, Scott, she can have all this, right?”

She leans over Lydia and Allison to pass her phone to him. Scott squints at the screen and nods. “Yeah, totally.”

“Yes!” Allison cheers, and reaches for the remote to turn the tv off before patting Lydia’s arm. “C’mon, we’re going out to eat, let’s go get ready.”

Lydia shoots Stiles a puzzled look but lets Allison pull her up. She taps Allison’s arm and tilts her head, giving her a look that Stiles has figured out is Lydia’s _explain_ face.

“We’re going to a restaurant,” Allison tells her. “Instead of buying food and taking it home to eat we’re gonna eat there. It’s like, a way to socialize I guess, you’ll like it, it’s fun. And we get to dress up, c’mon, I have an outfit that’ll look so good on you.”

“Good idea, I’m gonna change too.” Kira gets up and follows Allison and Lydia out of the living room.

Stiles leans over and ruffles Malia’s hair. “Hey, we’re going out to dinner in a little bit, do you wanna change?”

“Hmph.” Malia grumbles and rolls over. She presses her face into the back of the couch, her denim cutoffs riding up her thighs. “Will you bring me a shirt?”

“Seriously?”

She cracks one eye open, pouting. “I don’t wanna get up, I’m comfy.”

“I’ll go ask Kira to get you one,” Scott offers.

“Man, you are _spoiled,_ ” Stiles teases affectionately.

Malia gives him a sleepy grin. “I’m the pack baby, gotta love me.”

He shudders. “I’m still having nightmares about that show.”

She laughs, flipping over onto her back and titling her chin up to look at him. “After every messed up supernatural creature that’s nearly killed you an animatronic baby dino is the thing that scares you?”

“What can I say, I’m a freak.” Stiles stretches his legs out and rolls off the loveseat. “I’m gonna go put on a shirt.”

Malia smirks. “You excited for your date?”

“Wha - it’s not - it’s a _group dinner!_ ”

“You keep telling yourself that,” she cackles. “You know you’ve basically been walking around with heart eyes all week, right?”

“I do _not_ have heart eyes!”

“You really, really do.”

“I’m not arguing about this with you,” he mutters.

She smiles serently at him. “That’s because you know I’m right.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says, but he throws her a grin as he walks out.

The bathroom is empty so he takes a quick shower, runs a little gel through his hair and goes into his room. He changes into a midnight blue vee neck and a pair of jeans, puts on a pair of relatively clean Chucks and makes sure he has his wallet before going back out into the living room. 

Scott’s perched on the arm of the couch basically wearing the same thing as Stiles except his shirt is hunter green, playing a game on his phone. Kira’s changed into a strapless yellow maxi dress and Malia’s pulling the tank top Kira must have brought her over her head.

“Hey,” Scott greets him, pocketing his phone. “Do you care if Kira drives? Her car is bigger.”

“No, that’s perfect, then I can have a margarita.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “You can’t share it with Lydia, okay?”

“Oh come on, she’s gonna try alcohol eventually anyway!”

“Stiles!” Scott shoves a hand through his hair. “She’s not supposed to have that stuff yet, c’mon!”

“Scott, it’s summer break, you come on, she’s had like, the hardest week of her life, don’t you think she should get to have like the tiniest bit of fun?”

Scott shakes his head. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Fine, but only like, a sip, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious, Stiles. She has literally zero alcohol tolerance right now.”

“Just a sip, fine, got it.”

“Hey guys!” Allison comes into the room, her hair is pulled back in a loose bun and she’s changed into a white strappy sundress that shows off her new summer tan. “Stiles, you are going to die.”

“Huh?”

Allison grins at him and turns around, leaning into the hallway. “Lydia, come on!”

Lydia slowly walks into the room, a hesitant expression on her face. Stiles stares at her, dumbfounded - she doesn’t look at all like the girl he found on the beach, small and bruised and scared. She looks beautiful in a manufactured kind of way, like the kind of popular girl who wouldn’t look at him twice - her hair falls in shiny curls down her back, her lips have been painted a deep matte red and she’s wearing a matching crop top and high waisted skirt, the fabric pale blue and dotted with tiny pink roses.

“Wow,” he says dumbly. “You look beautiful.”

She shuffles over to him, her feet buckled into a pair of tan colored sandals with a bit of a wedge, a hopeful expression on her face. She reaches for his hand and traces _really?_ against his palm.

“Yeah,” he says softly, hypnotized by the dark flutter of her eyelashes and the bright curve of her lips.

She smiles up at him as she tightens her fingers around his, and turns her head to whip her hair over her shoulder.

“Okay.” Allison claps her hands together. “Everyone ready?”

“I can’t find my shoes!” Malia wails, stretched out on the floor on her belly, one arm sweeping under the couch.

“I think you left them on the deck.” Scott takes her outside and they come back a minute later with a pair of coral colored flip flops held triumphantly over Malia’s head.

“Are we good to go?” Kira calls out, grabbing her keys from the dish on the kitchen island.

Malia sets her flip-flops down and slides her feet into them. “Ready!”

They all follow Kira outside and down the driveway; the rain has stopped and everything looks lush and green, rays of golden light shining down from a deepening blue sky. Kira unlocks her SUV and Malia jumps into the passenger seat. Scott and Allison walk around the car to get in on the other side as Stiles opens the door to the backseat and helps Lydia into the car before sliding in next to her and slamming the door shut. Lydia quickly buckles her seatbelt as Allison gets in and sits down next to her, Scott squeezing in on Allison’s other side. 

Kira starts the car and turns over her shoulder. “Everyone buckled up?”

Stiles does his and gives her a thumbs up. “All set.”

Kira backs out of the driveway, right arm slung over the back of Malia’s seat as she carefully reverses onto the street and shifts into drive. Stiles rolls his window down; the air has that just-rained smell, fresh and sweet and then all of a sudden he has a lap full of Lydia as she leans over him to look out at their street as it rolls by. It’s sensory overload: the warm weight of her hip pressed against his, long curls spiraling into his lap, her bare arms tangling in his as she reaches for his hands. Rays of early evening sunlight flash by, making Lydia look lit up, almost unbearably bright as her skin shimmers ethereally. His pulse races, unable to do anything but stare at her, glowing like an angel, like the universe left her there on the beach that night just for him.

And then he remembers that she didn’t do this for him, she did this for someone else, Jackson or some other worthless jackass and his heart plummets into his stomach.

He leans his head back against the seat, eyes closing so he doesn’t have to look at her, and tries not to feel selfish that he enjoys this so much, the press of her body against his, the softness of her hands, how good it feels to have someone touch him like this, her thumb tracing idle circles over his knuckles.

When they get to the restaurant Kira parks in the lot; Stiles climbs out of the car and holds his arms out automatically to help Lydia get out. He shuts the door for her and she gives him a brilliant smile that makes him feel like he’s been punched in the chest, and slips her arm in his. It makes something in him stand a little straighter, the assuredness of the gesture, the way she’s looking at him, _to_ him, for guidance.

And just like that he doesn’t care anymore, that she doesn’t love him, that she fell in love with someone else first, a guy who’s probably gorgeous and wealthy and not skinny and screwed up like Stiles, because she’s here and she’s perfect and he feels so lucky, just to have her standing next to him, looking at him with luminous eyes and parted lips and she’s so beautiful it hurts.

“C’mon,” he says, and turns them around to follow the group down the sidewalk and over to the front of the restaurant.

Inside it’s dark and crowded, paneled wood and huge decorative anchors on the walls, a fake ship deck in one corner with rowdy little kids climbing all over it, the tables crammed full of sunburned tourists in brightly patterned dresses and polo shirts. Kira checks in with the hostess and gestures at everyone to follow her as the hostess smiles brightly and grabs a stack of menus.

Lydia shrinks into Stiles as they walk across the restaurant; when he turns over his shoulder to look at her she’s staring at him, eyes wide with apprehension.

“Okay?” he says loudly, bending his head down so she can hear him over the ambient noise of people talking and dishes clattering throughout the room.

Her fingers tighten around his and she mouths, _people._

“Yeah, it’s crowded,” he says sympathetically, fighting the urge to laugh at how horrified she looks, and then realizes she couldn’t have known how many strangers would be here so he wraps his arm around her shoulders and lets her turn into him, guiding her to their table and helping her into a chair before sitting down next to her.

Allison sits down on Lydia’s other side and gives her a little shoulder squeeze. “What do you think?”

Stiles watches Lydia give Allison a big enthusiast smile even as her fingers latch onto his under the table and hold on for dear life. 

“Yeah?” Allison smiles back. “You excited?”

“I think she’s just getting used to it,” he answers when Lydia doesn’t respond.

“Can she have chips and guac?” Malia asks. “‘Cus if she doesn’t like this yet that should definitely help.”

“Scott?” Allison ask.

“Hang on.” Scott’s bent over his phone. “Yeah, that’s fine, she can try corn today, and she’s already had avocado, let’s do it.”

“Yes!” Malia cheers. 

When the waitress comes they order guac and tortilla chips for the table and Stiles and Allison each ask for the Classic Captain Margarita. Their drinks come a few minutes later, salt on the rim and a pineapple slice wedged around the straw.

“Cheers!” Allison leans over Lydia to clink her glass against Stiles, and takes a sip of her drink before putting it down in front of Lydia. “Here, you want to try?”

Lydia looks sideways at Stiles, who looks at Scott, who groans and rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Just a little, okay?”

Her fingers tap against Stiles’ hand. _Why?_

“Because it has alcohol in it,” he explains.

She gives him a confused look and Allison giggles. “Just try it, you’re gonna feel amazing.”

“Allison!” Scott presses his palms against his forehead. “Deaton said” -

“Deaton doesn’t have any sense of fun,” Allison counters. “Come on, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“She’ll spend the night with her head in the toilet,” Scott fires back.

“Which really, when you think about it,” Stiles muses, “is a mostly universal human experience for twenty-one year olds.”

“Ew.” Kira wrinkles her nose.

Allison rolls her eyes. “I’m not trying to get her shitfaced you guys, come on, she can like, share one drink with me right?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Scott sighs.

Lydia curls her fingers around the stem of the glass and looks at Stiles again. He shrugs and takes a sip of his own, warmth sliding down into his stomach.

“It’s up to you,” he tells her. “The thing about alcohol is that can uh, affect your state of mind, which can be really fun until it’s not anymore, but the more you have the more you build up a tolerance to it, and because you’ve never had it before it’ll affect you more so if you want to try it that’s totally cool but you should really start slow, okay?”

She tilts her head, like she’s thinking about it, and then she lifts the glass to her lips, takes a large gulp, delicately wipes her mouth with the edge of her hand and passes it back to Allison.

“Alright.” Allison raises an impressed eyebrow as she takes her glass back.

Lydia gives Scott a smug smile that makes Stiles laugh into his drink. Kira and Malia have lost interest, engaged in a debate about which parts of the boardwalk have the best spots to go cruising for guys. 

“We should go hiking tomorrow,” Malia says. “Hit the boardwalk on the way back.”

Kira looks over at Lydia. “I don’t know if she’s ready for hiking yet but we could drive up to the lookout.”

Malia looks at Stiles, who shrugs. “Cool with me.”

“I’m in,” Allison agrees. “We should, you know. Keep doing this. Going out more.” 

She pats Lydia’s shoulder and passes her drink so Lydia can take another sip. Their waitress returns and places a basket full of chips and a bowl of guacamole down on the table before whipping out her order pad. Scott and Stiles both order burgers, Malia and Kira get three orders of fish tacos to share, and Allison gets Lydia a tilapia jicama salad before ordering a grilled chicken sandwich for herself.

Stiles takes one of the side plates and fills it with a handful of chips and a scoop of guacamole before putting it in front of Lydia. “You want to try?”

She gives the guacamole a hesitant look before dipping a chip into it and carefully putting the whole thing in her mouth. She chews thoroughly, a thoughtful expression on her face, and swallows before reaching for his margarita and helping herself to a large sip.

He chuckles. “You like tequila, huh?”

She shrugs and gives him a small smile, like, _I guess so._

Across the room someone bumps into a waitress, who shrieks and just manages to regain balance of her tray before she can spill a pitcher of margaritas. Lydia winces, her whole body twitching, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against his hand. Stiles takes another sip of his drink and leans into her, observing the way her eyes flick all over the restaurant.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks her.

Her mouth twists a little to the side and he notices for the first time that she’s bouncing her legs under the table. Her fingers slide across his hand as she writes out, _loud._

He thinks about the summer he learned to swim, him and Scott holding their breath at the community pool and screaming under the water just to marvel at the way the sound was muffled. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that everything might sound differently to her up on the surface, that all the ambient noise he constantly tunes out without being aware of it might be constant baffling sounds she doesn’t know how to process.

He pushes back from his chair, her hand held in his. “We’re gonna go outside for a minute,” he tells Scott. “Text me when the food comes?”

Scott tilts his head minutely towards Lydia, like he’s listening to her heart or something, and nods as he scoops a chip through the guacamole. “Sure.”

“Thanks. C’mon Lydia.” He helps her up and she follows him without question, her fingers tight around his own.

He leads her to the open glass doors at the back of the restaurant and helps her out onto the patio. She takes small careful steps in her wedges as they walk over to the railing that faces the ocean, the sun a fiery half-circle sinking below the horizon. She splays her hands over the railing and takes a few deep breaths, looking out at the crashing waves. The tension in her shoulders smooths out and she leans sideways to brush shoulders with him, peeking up at him through her eyelashes.

“Better?” he guesses.

She gives him that shy smile that makes his head spin and mouths, _thank you._

“You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t know what to do with it, her wide eyes and her gratitude, her shimmering skin and hair that glows a million different shades of red. He doesn’t know how to explain that he thinks he’d do anything for her, sacrifice himself, give her anything she needed just to have her look at him like this, like he’s special, someone she cares about, like he matters to her.

Her hand slides across the railing to his and he takes it automatically, electricity jolting through him just at the feeling of her curling her fingers around his. She leans in closer and then all of a sudden they’re hugging, her arms tight around his waist and her head resting on his chest, his hands pressed against the bare skin of her back above the waistband of her skirt. She smells like strawberries and rain, her skin warm against his palms, the ends of her hair tickling his arms.

They stand there like, holding each other as they watch the sun goes down, until Scott texts him that their food has arrived. He and Lydia go back inside, her hand still curled around his, and sit down at the table where their meals waiting for them.

Lydia seems to relax more as she eats, Allison orders a second drink and when Scott goes to the bathroom Allison whispers, _go,_ and Lydia sucks up at least a third of the margarita, her eyes going a little glassy.

“Oh my god, Scott is going to kill you,” Malia laughs gleefully.

“Not if you don’t tell him,” Allison responds.

Malia tilts her head like she’s thinking about it. “It’ll cost you.”

Allison considers this. “I’ll tell you where Stiles keeps his secret stash of Oreos.”

“Hey!” he protests. “What the hell?”

“Deal,” Malia agrees.

“Sorry Stiles, you know she loves them,” Allison says flippantly.

“Rude,” he grumbles, and finishes his drink.

By the time the check comes Allison’s clearly a little drunk, she pays with a credit card Stiles knows belongs to Chris and waves off the cash he tries to give her. When they stand up Lydia wobbles into her and Allison giggles, linking their arms, while Scott shakes his head and walks around the table to take Allison’s other hand. 

“I got it, babe I got it,” she tries to assure him, even as she sways a little.

“Yeah, okay killer.” Scott kisses her temple and Allison smiles and turns her head to the side to kiss him on the lips, Lydia’s hand still clutched in hers.

She and Lydia giggle all the way to the parking lot and climb into the car, a mess of tangled bare limbs as they squish together in the middle, bookended by Stiles and Scott, while Kira and Malia get into the front.

Lydia holds his hand on the drive home, her head resting on his shoulder. Stiles isn’t drunk but he has a nice little buzz from the margarita and it’s easy right now, to not overanalyze it, to just enjoy the breeze and the sweet scent of her hair and the idle stroke of her fingertips against the back of his hand. 

When they get back to the house Kira parks in the driveway and they all tumble out of the car. Allison stumbles to the front door, her cheeks flushed, leaning against Scott as he unlocks the door to let them all in. Allison leads the way into the living room, toeing off her sandals before turning on the sound system.

“I wanna dance,” she mumbles, plugging her phone in. “Music, come on, come on.”

Lydia jumps next to him when alterna-pop suddenly blasts through the speakers and Stiles tightens his grip on her hand as he leads her to the couch so she can sit down. Allison whoops and throws her arms in the air. “Come on, you guys aren’t going to make me dance alone, right?”

Kira and Malia jump right in, sandwiching Allison between them as they make a cage with their arms and swing their hips. Lydia watches them as her fingers pick at the buckles of her sandals so she can take them off as he sits down next to her. Stiles rests his head against the back of the couch and kicks off his Converses, laughing as Allison pouts and waves her arms at Scott until he joins them, wedging himself between Kira and Allison.

Stiles glances sideways at Lydia, who has her bare feet folded under her legs. “Hey, you wanna dance?”

She gives him a surprised look and shakes her head.

“No? Do your feet hurt?”

She shakes her head again, bottom lip pulled in between her teeth.

“C’mon, it’s fun.” He stands up and holds his hand out to her but she shakes her head for the third time, curls bouncing around her shoulders.

“What? Why not? You don’t want to even try?” he wheedles.

She presses her lips together as she reaches for his hand and traces out, _don’t know how_.

“You don’t have to know how!” he exclaims. “That’s the best part, you just kinda move around to the music however you want to.”

She lets out a heavy sigh and rolls her eyes but her lips tick up and just like that he knows he has her.

“Lydia, come one,” he coaxes. “Get up and dance with me.”

She shakes her head like he’s being ridiculous but she climbs down from the couch and lets him take her hand. He grins and leads her over to the rest of the group; Allison squeals and grabs Lydia’s hands to pull her into the circle; Lydia allows herself to be lead around as Stiles watches her, swaying back and forth a little next to Malia.

It only takes a few minutes before Lydia starts to let go, moving her body around exactly to the beat of the music, smiling so big she must be a little drunk because her eyes are shining and she looks carefree, weightless. She throws her arms up and twirls, a spinning blur of red hair and gauzy blue fabric, perfect pale skin and undulating hips.

She finds his hands and they get pulled together, bodies moving in the same rhythm until they’re pressed up against each other. He can feel the pound of her heart against his chest and the puff of her breath against his throat as he dips his head down to rest his cheek against hers. He begins to waltz her around the room, everything around them spinning into a swirling blur of colors and right in the middle of it is Lydia, her shining green eyes and her painted lips and maybe she doesn’t love him right now but in this moment, with her body held in his hands and her face lit up as he smiles down at her, it doesn’t feel like it matters.


	8. keep smiling at me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes; surely with these you can enchain a man’s heart.  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Stiles jackknifes up in bed, the nightmare already fading from his consciousness but the panic remains, crawling up his tightening throat until he feels like he’s choking. He gasps and sputters as he kicks off the comforter, his eyes slowly adjusting in the dark to reveal Lydia, sitting up next to him in sleepy confusion. 

He tries to breathe but he feels like he can’t get any air and he must be hyperventilating or something because she suddenly looks frantic, closing the space between them as she reaches for him. He tries to say, _help_ , or _get Scott_ but nothing comes out and her lips are moving without a sound because she can’t talk either and oh god he’s going to die here, he’s going to suffocate in bed because he didn’t think to tell her what panic attacks are or that he gets them and Lydia is crying, her hands clutching his shoulders as she crawls into his lap, her beautiful eyes dark with tears as they fall freely down her face and she must be terrified, she doesn’t know what’s happening and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe -

Soft lips press against his own and Stiles parts his mouth reflexively as he inhales through his nose, the panic swirling away as she kisses him. His senses come back online, pieces falling into place - he’s safe, at the Argents’ beach house, in bed with the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen and she’s kissing him like he’s dying and she can bring him back to life with just a kiss and her own willpower.

He pulls back just enough to gape at her. “Why did you do that?” he rasps.

She wipes her face with the back of her hand and leans sideways, still in his lap, to snatch his phone off the nightstand. She stabs at it and huffs like she’s frustrated, Stiles takes it from her to unlock it and open the notes app before handing it back. She taps rapidly at the screen and spins it around so he can read it: _I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe it would bring you back I guess._

“Huh,” he breathes, a little amazed at how quickly his equilibrium is returning, and reaches up to wipe off a tear that’s clinging to her eyelashes. “That was really smart.”

Her face crumples up as she pushes her cheek into his palm, fingernails tapping against his phone screen as she types out _what was that?_

He sighs and rubs his eyes with his free hand. “That was a panic attack.”

She gives him a quizzical look and he runs his thumb absentmindedly against her cheekbone. “I get them sometimes, I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you. I would’ve but they don’t happen so much anymore and I haven’t had a nightmare that bad in so long, and I guess with everything we’ve been focusing on with you it kind of slipped my mind to tell you.”

She stares down at his phone for a minute before tossing it down next to her on the mattress, and leans forward to bury her face into the meat of his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Stiles wraps his arms around her and lets his head rest back on his pillow. “Did I scare you?” 

She nods into his shirt, the ends of her hair tickling his forearms. He squeezes her a little, the weight of her body against his chest solid and comforting. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “If that ever happens again get Scott, okay? He knows what to do.”

She nods again, her hand groping across the bed for his phone. She sniffs delicately and sits up in his lap, his arms still looped around her waist as she types something and turns the screen so he can read it: _what happened to you?_

A flicker of residual terror makes him shiver. “What do you mean?”

She gives him a pointed look and types more: _what happened that makes you have nightmares?_

He swallows through the tightness in his throat. “Do you remember the other day in the car, when we were coming back from your checkup? When you were asking me about magic and I told you we’d had an experience with dark magic, when we were younger?”

Her eyes widen as she types out _you said you would tell me later._

“Yeah, I know I did.”

She raises an expectant eyebrow as she types, _what happened?_

He trips his fingers up and down her spine. “Okay. So remember how I said our world has magic here but it’s kind of a secret? Not everyone knows about it?”

She nods, looking very serious.

“Okay, well, the town we’re from, me and Scott and Allison, there was a lot of magic there. More than normal. There was a - it’s kind of a long story, but basically we’ve got this tree but it’s like a magic tree I guess, it acts like a beacon, it attracts magical creatures and well, they’re not all cute and furry, you know?”

He waits for Lydia to interrupt him or give him a look like she thinks he’s crazy but she’s just sitting there listening, arching her back slightly as he trails his hands up and down her vertebrae, and gestures loosely at him like, _go on._

“The details of how it happened aren’t really important I guess,” he continues. “But I got possessed, by a fox spirit. There are different kinds actually, if you ever want to learn more about Japanese mythology ask Kira, but um anyway, the kind that possessed me, it was… not nice.”

Her hands shake as she types out, _did it hurt you?_

”Um, well, it took control over my body,” he says thickly, blinking hard against a sudden stinging of tears. “It - made me hurt other people. A - a lot of people.”

Her bottom lip trembles as she types out, _how did you survive that?_

“I don’t really know,” he answers honestly. “I almost didn’t. We - Scott and Deaton figured out how to get the spirit out of me, lock it up somewhere safe. The whole thing - I, remember what happened, well, some of it. It was a spirit, a, a trickster, it played with me sometimes. Made me see things that weren’t there. And other things… that’s what I have nightmares about. The things it did. The things it made me do.”

 _But you’re okay now?_ she types quickly.

“Yeah,” he assures her. “Totally human and nothing else, promise. It was like five years ago, I - I try not think about it but uh, I still get nightmares every once and awhile. Obviously.”

She blinks furiously and Stiles realizes that she’s crying again as she types, _but you’re really okay?_

“Yeah,” he tells her softly. “I’m okay, Lydia. Everything’s okay.”

Something flashes across her face that he can’t quite read as she types out, _I need you to be okay._

“Lydia, hey.” he murmurs. “I’m okay.”

Her lips press together as she types again and hands him the phone, looking away as he reads what she typed: _I need you._

“Hey, hey, c’mere.” He lets the phone slide out of his hands and pulls her down against him as she reaches up to wind her arms around his neck.

Stiles slides down a little on the bed so he’s lying on his back with Lydia sprawled over him, her fingers digging into his skin like she’s afraid to let him go and it almost breaks him, her clinging to him like she’s afraid he’ll leave her here, all alone. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I’m here.”

She makes the tiniest sound, like she’s swallowing a sob, and instead of typing on his phone she traces letters down one of his arms: _I can’t do this without you._

“Hey, hey.” He shifts a little onto one side so he can see her better and cups a hand over the back of her head. “You don’t have to, okay? I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

Her green eyes nearly glow in the dim light; up close like this she’s all plush lips and tear stained cheeks and then she’s arching up to kiss him again and Stiles kisses her back, warmth flooding his chest as he takes control, sucking on her bottom lip until she shivers in his arms.

“What was that for?” he asks quietly when she pulls away, looking a little shocked, like she wasn’t expecting that.

Her fingers tickle as she traces letters against his skin: _because I wanted to._

Stiles tries to cover the surprise he’s sure he’s broadcasting all over his face. “Yeah?”

She gives him a shy smile as she mouths _yes_ and ducks her head to tuck it under his chin, curling her body against his side as she yawns into his throat.

“Me too,” he whispers.

They fall asleep like that, with her lying on his chest, and when he wakes up again it’s morning, the room flooded with sunlight and Lydia’s legs tangled up in his. Stiles just watches for a second: the flashes of gold in her strawberry blond hair, the gentle part of her lips, the shimmer of her skin. He runs his hands up and down her back, laughing quietly to himself when her face scrunches up as she burrows into his side.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Time to wake up.”

She turns her face up enough to give him an adorable pout that makes him grin, sliding one arm across her so she doesn’t roll off the bed when he sits up. She follows him, goes up on her knees next to him and then they’re face to face, almost the same height like this and he’s caught in those eyes, a million different shades of yellow and green.

She shuffles closer and purses her lips, an expression on her face that he can only describe, somehow, unbelievably, as _hopeful_ , and his heart pounds in his chest as he leans into her like he’s being pulled by a magnet. She arches up towards him as he kisses her, her hands warm as they slide up under the hem of his tee shirt. It’s like moving through honey, slow and heavy and sweet; one hand splayed over the small of her back and the other curving perfectly around her jaw like she was made to fit right against him. 

She curls her hands around his hip bones and he pants into her mouth, feeling a little drunk on her - the softness of her lips, the warmth of her skin, the sigh of her breath. When she pulls away the look she give him makes him dizzy. She’s staring up at him with wide vulnerable eyes and just a hint of a smile, like she’s in awe of him, this, the connection between them humming like a physical thing.

“We should, um, get up,” he says, head spinning a little. “I bet everyone’s getting started on breakfast, hey, I bet we could talk Scott into letting you try coffee, and it’s Saturday and we almost always do pancakes on Saturdays, which, yay, you can have now! Not that I wouldn’t love to just like, stay here and do this for a stupid amount of time, and oh god, I’m used to someone cutting me off when I start to ramble like this, just, just smack me when I’ve gone too far” -

Lydia gently smacks his hip and then she doubles over, laughing silently, and he can’t look away from her as he slides off the bed, because he made her _laugh_ , and it’s glorious.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, mock my lack of brain-to-mouth filter,” he jokes, and she shakes her head as she reaches for him so he can help her off the bed.

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, pokes him in the chest and traces out, _silly._

“You like it.” It comes out sounding vulnerable instead of cocky, like he’s asking instead of stating a fact, but Lydia gives him a soft kind of look that makes his stomach swoop.

 _Yes_ , she writes against his palm.

She’s so short standing toe to toe with him like this that he has to curl the whole upper half of his body over to kiss her. She squeezes his hand as she brushes her lips against his, her other hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

“Where the hell have you been all my life?” he mumbles against her lips.

Her finger traces out _swimming_ and she does a little shimmy, hips swirling, and he still can’t really imagine it but it’s enough to make the breath rush out of him - the idea that she used to be a different _species_ , have a different body, when she seems so much like him: just another human, skinny and scared, touched by magic but not of it.

Lydia threads their fingers together and slides her body across his to lead the way out of his room, turning her head over her shoulder to shoot him a smirk, like he’s already eating out of the palm of her hand and she knows it, and all he can do is dumbly follow her down the hallway, staring at her, wondering how someone so beautiful and fascinating could ever look at him the way that she does.

In the kitchen Allison is setting down a serving plate stacked high with pancakes down on the island while Malia and Kira set the table, bumping hips as they dance around to whatever song is playing from the speaker dock.

“Hey!” Scott calls out. “Stiles, coffee?”

“Yeah, hey, thanks.” Stiles walks over to counter and takes the mug Scott hands him, watching Lydia shuffle across the room where the girls are sitting down.

She hops up on a stool next to Allison, who gives her a bright smile and a shoulder squeeze. Lydia tugs on the other girl’s arm and after a moment Allison shrieks and leans across the island to whisper something to Kira and Malia, who break into hysterical giggles while Lydia sits there with a proud little smile on her face, looking like a popular high school girl sitting at her lunch table surveying her kingdom.

“What is _that_ about?” Scott asks curiously.

Stiles takes a sip of coffee. “Yeah, so, that would probably be Lydia telling the girls that we kissed last night. And when we woke up this morning. And like two minutes ago. So like, yeah that’s a thing now.”

“Dude.” Scott looks over where Lydia and Allison are taking turns typing on Allison’s phone. “What happened?”

“Um, well, last night I sort of had a panic attack” -

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m okay! It, I woke up having one, and she didn’t know what to do ‘cus I haven’t told her yet that I’m, you know…”

“Bro,” Scott says emphatically, giving him the puppy eyes.

“Yeah, I know, anyway, she didn’t know what to do so she um, kissed me. And it worked, which is weird, it like, made me hold my breath and then I realized I was like, _kissing_ her, and I totally snapped out of it.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah.” Stiles leans against the counter. “Scott, I… I think I’m really falling for her.”

Scott sighs and slings his arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Yeah, I know.”

“Scott?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t think… she wouldn’t…” Stiles looks over his shoulder at Lydia, who’s eating a pancake and swinging her legs against the rungs of her stool, looking relaxed and happy, like she fits right in.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me,” Scott says.

“Nothing. It’s just, in the story… she has to get the prince to fall in love with her or she dies. And the guy, Jackson or whoever it was, he left her or didn’t want her or, I don’t know, it didn’t work out anyway, and… you don’t think…”

“Okay.” Scott pats his shoulder. “Look, I get that you don’t know what her history is and I’m not gonna say it’s a bad idea to be a little cautious until we get the whole story, but Stiles - I see the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“How does she look at me?”

Scott rolls his eyes. “Trust me, she likes you, okay? So go sit next to her and eat breakfast and we’ll worry about the other stuff later, okay?”

“We kissed _four_ times,” Stiles whispers gleefully.

Scott snorts. “Not that you’re counting or anything.”

They go over to the island and the look Lydia gives Stiles when he sits down next to her makes all his insecurities melt away instantly. They eat breakfast with her hand on his thigh, his arm around her shoulders, and everyone else kindly manages to keep the teasing to a minimum although he doesn’t really mind, nothing can bother him too much right now, not with her hand on his leg and her body next to his. When they all finish eating they clear the table and go back to their bedrooms to change, Lydia disappears with Allison to borrow clothes and Stiles goes to their room to put on athletic shorts and a tee shirt. He packs his backpack, stuffing in towels, a tube of sunscreen and his hoodie just in case the weather turns.

He goes back out to the kitchen when he’s all ready and helps Kira make sandwiches to bring along for lunch. Halfway through making a stack of pb&j’s Malia comes in wearing a coral colored bikini top and a pair of tattered denim shorts, hair pulled up in a messy bun.

“We’re still going to the lookout, right?” she asks, hopping up onto a stool and dipping one finger into the peanut butter jar.

Kira flicks her hand away. “Yeah, can you get the grapes out of the fridge for me please?”

“Fine,” Malia groans, but she washes the bunch of grapes and stores them in a plastic container while only popping the occasional grape into her mouth.

Scott comes out a few minutes later wearing just a pair of lacrosse shorts and helps Stiles pack everything up into a cooler that he carries out to Kira’s SUV. Allison and Lydia walk in while Kira and Malia are putting on sunscreen, Lydia’s wearing that black bathing suit again under the pair of mesh shorts that seem to be hers now and a striped tank top he’s seen Allison wear a few times. Scott comes back inside to grab his shoes and once everyone has sunscreen on they collect beach towels and the girls’ bags, a few big bottles of water and Kira’s keys, and go out to the car.

The sun is shining brightly overhead and everything looks so sharp and clear it almost hurts. Stiles digs his sunglasses out of his backpack and puts them on in the driveway while Lydia waits next to him, Allison’s gold aviators already over her face.They decide to all go in Kira’s car so they can ride together, Malia sits up front again and Stiles and Lydia get in the back next to Scott and Allison. 

“Windows open or air?” Kira asks as she starts the car, and turns the air conditioner on when Lydia leans excitedly towards the vent, her hands held up in anticipation.

They drive through town and then a little farther towards the entrance of the lookout. Kira passes the parking lot they use when they come here to hike and turns the car up the sandy road that leads up to the lookout. Lydia leans across Stiles’ lap to clutch the door as Kira cuts the wheel back and forth to follow the sharp curves in the road all the way up to the top, where she parks in the small lot next to the tree line and turns the car off.

They all climb out, Stiles slings his backpack over one shoulder and helps Scott pull the cooler out of the trunk. Allison loops the handles of her beach bag over her arm and reaches out to take Lydia’s hand. “C’mon, this way, wait til you see the view, it’s amazing.”

Scott and Stiles trail behind the girls as they walk up the short grassy hill until the bluff levels out and the ocean comes into view below them. Allison walks around until she finds a good place to spread out the blanket she packed but Lydia stays there, standing like she’s frozen, and when Stiles drops his backpack and walks over to join her she’s staring down at the beach in amazement.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

She nods faintly and after a moment she reaches for his hand and spells out _phone?_

He digs it out of his pocket and hands it to her; she types something out and passes it back for him to read: _I’ve never seen the ocean from this high up before._

Stiles thinks about being a kid and seeing footage shot from space of the earth for the first time - the sense of vertigo, the shock of it, trying to comprehend the absolute vastness of this planet he lived on but had never seen in that way before.

“What do you think?” he asks, handing her back the phone.

She types something and hands it back, a tremulous smile on her face. _It’s beautiful._

He pockets his phone, unable to look away from those big eyes, that shimmering hair. “Yeah. It is.”

The wind whips her hair across her face as she slides her hand in his. They just stand there like that for a minute, watching the waves crash and recede over the shore before walking back to join everyone on the blanket. Allison brought a stack of magazines for the girls to flip through while they lay out in their swimsuits, Stiles takes a nap and when he wakes up Scott must have gone for a run because he’s coming up the narrow, steep stairs that lead down to the beach, his hair damp with sweat.

They eat lunch sprawled out on the picnic blanket, Lydia’s legs stacked over Stiles’ as she eats her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever with relish. Kira and Malia toss grapes at each other, competing for who can catch the most in their mouth, and Allison and Scott take selfies on Allison’s phone, making silly faces in between bites of their food. 

When Lydia finishes eating she wipes her hands off with a napkin and jumps up to brush a few crumbs off before sitting back down next to him. She shivers a little as a gust of wind sends her hair streaming behind her back and Stiles reaches out to rub her shoulder. “Hey, are you cold?”

She nods and pinches two fingers together, _a little,_ and leans into his touch. He reaches out and grabs his backpack, unzips it and digs out his hoodie.

“Here.” He hands it to her and Lydia smiles, taking it from him and sliding her arms into the sleeves to pull it on.

She leans into his side and mouths _thank you_. Strands of her hair flutter around her face and she’s looking up at him like this is everything she’s ever wanted and the sun is shining and he had a panic attack in front of her and instead of being scared away she _kissed_ him, and she’s so beautiful and then he’s bending down to tuck the loose strands of her hair behind her ears as he brushes his lips against hers.

She kisses him back, and when she eventually pulls away she’s smiling and damn, he’d do anything to keep her smiling like this, safe like this.

Happy.


	9. in the waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue that I may cut it off.  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

Danny shows up with Isaac that night while they’re all in the kitchen making dinner. Stiles has taken it upon himself to make margaritas for team human, Allison is teaching Lydia how to make guacamole, Kira’s cutting up veggies for a huge salad, and Scott is barbecuing on the deck with Malia. Allison goes to the front door let them in and leads them into the kitchen; Lydia goes still, sitting on her stool and tracking Danny and Isaac with wide apprehensive eyes.

“Hey Lydia, this is Danny and Isaac,” Allison says, walking back to the island and hopping up on a stool next to Lydia, throwing one arm around her shoulders.

Danny walks right up to Lydia and gives her a hug. “Welcome to the family,” he says warmly. “Yo, Stilinski, one of those for me?”

“Nice to see you too,” Stiles replies, and passes Danny a margarita.

Danny walks around the island to give Kira a hug and quickly gets roped into helping her finish the salad while Isaac hovers a few feet away, like he’s not sure where to go.

“Isaac, come say hi,” Allison prompts gently.

Isaac shuffles forward, holding one hand up in a half-hearted greeting. “Hey,” he says hesitantly. “I’m Isaac.”

Lydia gives him a half smile and holds one of her own hands up, and then looks back at Stiles, who gives her an encouraging smile and hands her a margarita. She takes it, cradles the glass between her palms and gives him a grateful look, like she’s glad to have something to do with her hands.

“I’m gonna find Scott,” Isaac says, and wanders off in the direction of the back deck.

“He’s a little shy,” Allison tells Lydia. “He’ll warm up.”

Lydia shrugs and takes a sip of her drink, leaning her shoulder into Allison, who smiles and stretches her arm out to grab the drink Stiles passes her. He quickly mixes one for himself and walks around to sit on Lydia’s other side. She tilts her head up to smile at him and there’s a warm feeling in his chest as he smiles back, listening to Kira and Danny laugh as they catch up while they finish the salad.

Malia runs inside a few minutes later and declares that dinner is ready to go. Allison and Stiles help her take out cutlery and plates while Lydia caries a stack of napkins. Stiles runs back in for the drinks and carries them outside, where everyone is sitting around the table. The sun is starting to go down, the sky a riot of peach and lavender and rose, bathing everyone in a cast of soft golden light.

Stiles sits down in the empty seat between Lydia and Kira, reaching across the table to take a hamburger from the tray Scott’s holding out to him. He sets it down on his plate and takes the salad from Kira when she passes it to him and serves himself and Lydia, who’s got a chicken breast cooked with a little marinade on her plate.

She hooks her foot under his calf and when Stiles glances sideways at her she winks, so quickly that he almost misses it, and turns back towards Allison, who’s looking at some pictures Danny took on his phone on his drive down from UW. They eat dinner like that, casually touching, his knee bumping up against hers occasionally, fingers brushing over the backs of hands, all subtle and innocent but unmistakably _there_.

It gives him that rush, the one he gets in the beginning of every relationship, when he’s teetering on the edge of total romantic obsession, although it's never been quite like this before, so overwhelming that it’s the only thing he can focus on. He barely even tastes his food, distracted by the brush of her toes against his leg and the smell of her hair, the sparkle of her skin. 

After the sun goes down clouds start moving in at an alarming rate, the sky suddenly going very dark. They carry everything inside and manage to make it in before it starts pouring, raindrops pounding against the glass sliding doors. Allison pours another round of margaritas and everyone settles into the living room to watch a movie. Lydia ends up half in Stiles’ lap, squished on the couch with Allison, Scott, and Isaac while Kira and Malia commandeer the loveseat, Danny sitting on the floor in front of them. 

Next to Stiles Lydia is flushed, her bare arm pressed against his and her legs tangled up with his. He can’t focus on the movie at all, he’s heavy and warm from the tequila and the weight of her body up against his. He’s almost relieved when the movie finally ends and everyone calls it a night, drifting off to various bedrooms and the office where the air mattress is set up. Lydia walks out with Allison, their arms slung around each other’s waists. Stiles helps Scott lock up and turn everything off and when he makes it back to his room Lydia’s already in bed wearing one of his tee shirts, her hair braided back from her face.

“Hey “ he says, suddenly a little light headed. “I’m just gonna go brush my teeth.”

She nods, her head leaning back against one of the pillows. Stiles stumbles across the room and escapes to the bathroom, shuts the door behind himself and flips the lock. He presses his forehead to the painted wood and just breathes for a minute, trying to pull his spinning head together. He kicks off his shorts and uses the toilet, washes his hands and brushes his teeth, and then ducks his whole head under the faucet. The cold water makes him gasp his way back to a semblance of sobriety, he scrubs his face with a washcloth and makes his way back to his room, where Lydia’s waiting for him in the dark, her pale skin glowing against the sheets.

“Hey,” he whispers, and walks around to the other side of the bed to plug his phone into the charger before crawling under the covers next to her.

She rolls over onto her side to face him and mouths _hi_. He slides a little closer to her and Stiles isn’t sure which one of them initiates it but suddenly they’re kissing, lips mashing together frantically, and she tastes like toothpaste and a hint of salt from the margaritas. He slides his hand around to her hip and Lydia shudders, her teeth scraping against his bottom lip, but before he can ask if she’s okay she’s curling her leg over his to pull their bodies closer together. He groans into her mouth as he slips his hand under her shirt to spread it out over the small of her back, shocked at the heat of her skin, the delicate bones of her spine, the way she arches her entire back when he kisses behind her ear.

He gets his bottom arm under her and wraps it around her shoulders as he kisses her neck, his tongue licking under her jaw. She’s trembling in his arms, soundless except for the harsh pant of her breath, her hands gripping the back of his tee shirt. He sucks on her collarbone and her hips snap against his; Stiles groans into her skin as she gasps and throws her head back, eyes half shut. Her leg tightens over his and he’s pressed against her everywhere and it’s taking everything in him to hold back, because she’s never even done this with this _body_ before.

He might not be her first love but he’s her first _this_ , first physical experience in a human body, and there’s something so intimate about that it’s almost terrifying, that everything she’s feeling right now, every shiver and gasp for breath, is a brand new sensation, all caused by him, right now. He reverently trails his lips back up to her ear, overwhelmed by this, the perfection of her body, the boldness of her hands tugging at his shirt. 

When he lifts his head a little they lock eyes and then Lydia’s pushing him back, using her leg as leverage to haul herself into his lap as he leans against the pillows. She goes back to attacking his shirt and Stiles helps her out, sitting up and pulling the shirt up over his head. Lydia follows suit and she isn’t even wearing a bra, but he doesn’t even get a moment to process that revelation before she’s leaning in to kiss him, her hands running over his shoulders.

He curls his fingers around her hips, all she’s wearing now is a pair of underwear, thin cotton against soft skin. He slides his hands up slowly as he increases the pressure of his lips until her mouth is parted against his. He strokes the dip of her waist as he tentatively flicks his tongue against her bottom lip. She makes a surprised noise but then her tongue brushes against his carefully; his fingers explore the sides of her ribs as her tongue explores his mouth, heat pooling in the base of his stomach.

His hands make it up to her chest and they both gasp, lips barely brushing together as his fingers rub and circle and pinch, listening to her sigh and whimper against his mouth as he plays around, trying to figure out what she likes as she shifts in his lap, her fingers tight on his shoulders.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mumbles as he slides his hands around to her back. “You’re so beautiful.”

She lets out a pleased sighing sort of exhale and arches into his touch as her head falls back a little. He kisses her exposed throat as his hands follow the line of her spine all the way down to the curve of her ass. He wraps his hands around her thighs and Lydia goes rigid, head falling forward to lock eyes with his, her nails digging into his skin.

“Are you okay?” he rasps. “Sorry, sorry, do your legs hurt?”

She shakes her head frantically, staring at him with wide eyes, mouth half open. She shifts in his lap so he’s lined up against her and Stiles groans, inadvertently gripping her legs, and she lets out an airless cry, her mouth dropping open. She rolls her hips and he thinks, _oh_ , and does it again, sinks his fingers into that soft flesh, and she _trembles_ , her chest rising sharply as she inhales.

He sits up a little, staring at her face as he trails his fingers around to the inside of her thighs. He traces over taut muscles and tendons, petal soft skin, watching her eyes drift shut, eyebrows pinched together a little. 

“Does that feel good?” he whispers.

Her eyes open and she looks blissed out, pupils pinned, nodding as she mouths _yes_ , and then, _please_ , and his stomach drops, every nerve in his body singing.

“Please what?” he asks hoarsely, and pushes his thumbs into the little hollows at the tops of the insides of her thighs.

 _More_ , she mouths, and tries to roll her hips but his hands are in the way and she makes an incredible, desperate sound that turns his spine to jelly.

“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, and slides down the bed a little, his hands wrapping around the back of her thighs. “C’mere.”

She stretches out on top of him, their hips realigning, and he’s dizzy with it, their naked chests pressed together, her knees bracketing his hips, the weight of her pelvis on his, the tension in her legs as he trails his fingers up and down them. She rocks into him and he follows her rhythm, slow and tentative, feeling her gasp and shudder and sigh against his chest as she drops her head down to rest it on his shoulder. Her hands trail down to rest against his ribs, her fingernails scratching against his skin. 

He’s gone, a little drunk from the tequila and so far past turned on he’s barely aware of his own body, just the heat in his veins and the pulse he can feel between her legs and the sharpness of her breath as she exhales between kissing his chest, his neck, his shoulder. He turns his head to the side so he can capture her lips and then she’s panting into his mouth and grabbing at him. He slides his hands up to her ass, her hips, moves them along to her rhythm and deep in some part of his brain he thinks that maybe they should stop and talk about this but then she’s sitting up in his lap, hips moving in torturous circles against his, head dropped to the side, like she’s too tired to hold it up, her hands drifting across her chest.

“Jesus,” he groans. “Lydia.”

She manages to raise one eyebrow and she leans forward, her chest brushing his, and mouths _yes?_

“Do you, I mean, we should really talk, and like. I don’t want you to feel like you ever have to do anything you don’t want to do, or aren't ready for, and there’s the whole fact that this a new body for you and I don’t know how much you, I mean, I don’t want to assume anything, I just feel like….”

He stops when he realizes that Lydia is laughing at him, rolling off him to stretch out over him so she can reach for his phone. She unplugs it and hands it to him so he can unlock it; he open up the notes app and passes it back, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. She types something out, a smile on her lips, and shows it to him: _did you think because I had a tail I didn’t know what sex was?_

“Uh, well,” he stutters. “I don’t know? Maybe?”

She shakes her head and types something, deletes it, types something else and erases it again, and then types back, _relax._

“Relax?” he says stupidly.

She puts his phone back down on the nightstand and stretches out next to him, wriggling her hand onto his shoulder and stretching one arm around his waist.

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly very tired.

She traces _hey_ down his side.

“We good?”

She nods and tilts her face up so he can give her a goodnight kiss, when he pulls away she reaches up with one hand to cup his cheek and kisses him once, twice, three times before dropping her head back down to his shoulder and he’s still so turned on he isn’t sure he’ll be able to sleep but he drifts off almost instantaneously and doesn’t wake up until sunlight is streaming through the windows and Lydia is wriggling under the covers like she’s trying to hide from it.

“Morning,” he rasps.

Lydia turns her head to the side to pout at him and then covers her mouth when she starts to yawn, which makes him yawn and stretch his arms over his head before sitting up.

“C’mon.” Stiles pats her hip. “Let’s get coffee.”

She slides out from under the covers and his heart just sort of flutters around in his chest because her hair is falling out of her braid and her glowing skin has crease marks on it from the pillowcase and the hem of his shirt hangs halfway down her thighs, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, he’s struck dumb, standing next to the bed in boxers and a tee shirt watching her like he’s been hypnotized.

He changes into clean clothes while she uses the bathroom and when she comes back into the bedroom her hair has been unbraided and hangs loose down her back. She smiles at him, not a big happy smile but something smaller and somehow better, because it’s a normal kind of smile, a _hey you_ kind of smile, a _mornings suck but not as much with you_ smile, a _lets get some fucking coffee already_ smile.

They go into the kitchen and they’re somehow the last ones there, which means coffee has already been made. Stiles fills up mugs for them and brings their coffee over to the island, where everyone is watching Danny and Kira set down a shit ton of bowls filled with different stuff.

Stiles looks across the island suspiciously at Danny. “What is this? Where are the pancakes, what did you do?”

“Make your own parfaits,” Danny says proudly. “You guys can’t seriously eat pancakes every morning.”

“We don’t eat them _every_ morning,” he responds weakly.

“Uh-huh. _Sure.”_

“It’s summer vacation!”

Next to him Lydia sips her coffee, looking baffled. Stiles rubs his eyes and glances at the clock over the stove, he and Lydia really need to work on going to sleep at a reasonable hour. “What even is all this stuff?”

“Nonfat yogurt.” Danny points to a giant bowl with with a serving spoon in it. “Sliced bananas, blueberries, strawberries, granola, cacao powder, and chia seeds. You’re welcome.”

“Chia whatta?” Stiles asks, only a little snidely.

Danny rolls his eyes pointedly. “Have you even been to the gym once since the summer started? Do you even know where the gym _is?_ ”

Stiles watches Allison spoon yogurt into a bowl and pass it to Lydia. “Is that judgement in your tone I’m hearing?”

Malia curls her upper lip and looks desperately at Stiles. “Screw this, I’m making bacon.”

“Amen, good for you.” They high five across the island and Stiles hops up on a stool to drink his coffee and watch Lydia mix herself a parfait with all the seriousness of a chemist performing an experiment.

Malia makes enough bacon for her, Stiles, Scott and Isaac and they all eat crowded around the island. It’s loud and messy and perfect, half of them talking at once and laughing, Lydia silent but engaged, eyes darting around as she follows the conversation, typing on Allison’s phone when she has questions.

They all linger over a second round of coffee, picking at the leftover berries while Kira, Danny and Lydia finish their parfaits. Allison and Danny both seem a little hungover, although he’s covering better than she is. When they’re all done eating she’s hardly touched her yogurt, her pale face resting on her elbows.

“I wanna lie out on the sand all day and not move,” Allison mumbles.

Kira glances towards the back doors, where there’s a brilliant blue sky and a placid ocean out there. “Sounds great to me.”

“Scott?” Isaac asks hesitantly.

“We were gonna go for a run.” Scott gestures to himself, Isaac and Malia.

“If I come how much am I gonna slow you down?” Danny asks. 

Isaac gives him a sly grin. “We can slow down for you.”

Malia snorts. “I don’t slow down for anyone. Deal with it.”

Scott shrugs and laughs. “You heard her.”

They all go change into swimsuits and running clothes; Stiles helps Kira carry towels and bottles of water down the deck steps and out onto the sand near the water while Allison and Lydia go into the office to get something to read.

Kira unrolls a towel and tilts her head up towards the sun. “I love it here,” she sighs. “I can’t believe Allison got to come here every summer growing up.”

Stiles plops down on his towel, glancing over his shoulder towards the house. He can’t help but think about it, that for years Lydia’s been out there in the ocean, alone, watching humans from afar. Observing, wondering, dreaming.

Falling in love with a human boy.

She comes outside with Allison a few minutes later, her pale skin glowing in the light so strongly it’s almost too brilliant to look at. She’s wearing the black swimsuit again and her hair is piled up in a knot on the top of her head. She’s smiling and nodding along to whatever Allison is saying and he has one of those moments of pure cognitive dissonance, where he can’t reconcile the girl in front of him, the girl he made out with last night, with the same girl he found on the beach that night.

Lydia walks right over to him and sits herself down on the towel to his right. _Hi_ , she mouths, and leans back, tipping her face up to the sun. He stretches out on his towel, hypnotized by the curve of her spine, the way she flexes and points her toes, testing her feet.

Allison flops down on Lydia’s other side and presses the side of her face into her towel. “I’m not moving until dinner,” she declares.

Scott leads Malia, Danny, and Isaac outside a few minutes later to run on the beach. Just watching them warm up makes Stiles feel exhausted, he stretches out onto his back and drapes one arm over his eyes. He doesn’t fall asleep exactly but he drifts for awhile, blissed out from the heat of the sun and the soft rhythmic crashing of the waves and the sound of Lydia flipping through a magazine.

At some point the others come back from their run and they all go into the house for lunch. Allison enlists Lydia and Malia to help her make a huge fruit salad and Stiles and Kira set up at the island, they make a huge stack of turkey sandwiches on thick whole-wheat bread with mustard, avocado, cheddar and lettuce and put them on plates for Scott and Isaac to take out. With eight people the house feels louder and more crowded but it’s nice too, everyone laughing and joking while they move back outside to eat on the deck. 

They eat under the heat of the sun, everyone is ravenous and tears into their sandwiches. It's finally starting to really feel like vacation, a perfect lazy summer day, the smell of sunscreen and saltwater in the air, and Stiles eats contentedly, Lydia’s feet in his lap, relaxed and sated.

“I wanna swim,” Malia announces when they’re all finished, licking juice from a pineapple wedge off the side of her palm.

Scott glances around at the ocean and nods. “I’ll go with you.”

They go inside to change into swimsuits and then Stiles goes back down to the beach with Allison, Kira and Lydia. This time Lydia sits on his towel with him, her back against his chest, their knees pressed together and his arms loosely wrapped around her. After a minute she leans her head back against his shoulder and reaches up to curl her hands around his forearms.

“Hey,” he whispers.

She strokes his wrist with one finger and it gives him chills, thrown back into last night, her body moving against his, the weight of her in his lap and the way all of her muscles rippled when he touched her legs. He tightens his arms around her, just a little, and focuses on the rhythm of her breathing, the gentle press of her spine against his stomach, the tickle of her hair on his bare shoulder.

Scott and Malia come out and talk Kira and Allison into swimming with them, Lydia sits up a little to watch them as they walk into the water. They all know not to go too far past the sand bar but they’re all strong swimmers and they never go in alone. And it’s calm today, almost comically blue water and a cloudless sky above, the water glittering with light.

“Do you want to go in?” Stiles asks. He wonders if she misses it, the feel of being in the water, and he realizes that she hasn’t been swimming once since the night he found her.

She hesitates and then shakes her head.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Don’t you miss it?”

She huffs through her nose and stretches sideways so she can lean over his arms to snatch up Allison’s phone without actually getting out of his embrace. She types something out and holds it up to him, her bottom lip held between her teeth:

_I don’t know how to swim._

Stiles gapes at her. “What do you mean you don’t know how to… oh.”

Lydia, on the beach that night, ocean water pouring out of her mouth as she shook and spasmed, like she’d almost drowned.

She doesn’t know how to swim with legs.

“I could teach you,” he offers. “If you want to learn.”

She lifts a hesitant shoulder and after a minute types out _maybe_ and sets the phone down.

“We could just walk in a little,” he suggests. “If you want to feel the water again.”

He’s so prepared for her to say no that she surprises him by tilting her head and nodding, shooting him a look that looks like both nervous anticipation and excitement. They get up and Stiles reaches down for her hand. She squeezes her fingers around his and walks with him to the edge of the water, wet sand under their feet.

A wave comes in and laps at their toes, Lydia tightens her grip on his hand a little and takes a careful step into the surf. She sighs and turns towards him, a pensive kind of smile playing on her lips. They walk in slowly, until the water is up to their knees.

“Okay?” he asks. “If we go out a little farther there’s the sand bar.” He points over to where they can make out Scott and the girls bobbing in the waves.

Lydia reaches up and tucks an errant wave between her ear, and mouths _okay_. They keep going as the water rises up to their thighs, their hips, their waists. Lydia comes closer to him , her hand clenching around his, eyes scanning the horizon.

“I’ve got you,” he reminds her, gently tugging on their clasped hands. “We’re almost there.”

The water gets almost up to Lydia’s shoulders before he feels the sand bar under their feet. The water starts to recede until it’s below their knees again and they’re standing in the ocean, the sun shining down on them as drops of water roll down their bodies.

Lydia readjusts her grip on his hand and stares out at the waves, watching Scott and Malia splash each other as hard as they can while Allison and Kira shriek and duck under the waves.

Stiles almost asks her something, like, _what do you think_ , or, _do you want to try going out farther_ , but then Lydia smiles up at him and rests her head on his shoulder, her thumb running over the back of his hand, and everything is so perfect, peaceful, that he stays quiet and just stands there next to her, listening to the crashing of the waves.


	10. stormy skies ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I will do it,” said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death.’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

They all go in the house late in the afternoon to get ready for dinner, everyone a little pink and sweaty from spending all day out under the heat of the sun. Stiles and Lydia go into his room to shower and change, he shuts the door behind them as Lydia walks towards the bathroom, grains of sand and ocean salt sticking to her calves. She stops near the door to the bathroom, her hands around her neck, looking a little annoyed. She points to him, then brings her hands back to her neck where the straps of her suit are knotted, then points to him again.

“Do you need help?” he tries to interpret. 

She nods, the annoyed look softening into relief, and turns around to brace her hands against the bathroom door. Stiles just sort of freezes, staring at her like an idiot - her long elegant neck, the curve of her spine, and her legs, her perfectly healed human legs.

She turns her head over her shoulder and gives him a look like, _what are you waiting for?_ and he crosses the room to her like he’s being pulled on a string. He stands behind her and brings his hands to her neck, trembling fingers sliding under the damp straps of her swimsuit. She’s so still and the sound of their breathing seems overly loud to him, hyper aware of the beat of his heart as he unties her straps and lets them fall. She reaches up and slowly peels her suit down until it’s pooled around her waist and Stiles can’t move, his hands still resting lightly on her shoulders. He feels like he’s waiting for something, some sign, and then she heaves out a sigh and lets her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Lydia,” he breathes, and slides his hands around the sides of her neck until his fingers are brushing the line of her collarbone.

He dips his head to kiss the exposed back of her neck and she smells like summer, like coconut scented sunscreen and saltwater and sunlight. He keeps moving his hands down her chest as she arches her back so her ass is pushing into him, making him clench his jaw. He cups her in his hands, his bare chest plastered to her back, and she makes this tiny breathy sound that he’s sure would be a moan if she could properly speak.

“You feel so good,” he whispers fervently, her hair tickling his cheek, almost afraid to move. 

She’s so delicate in his hands, so unbelievably human - soft and warm and every part of her so perfectly put together, because she wasn’t made by science, by dividing cells, she was made by magic. She’s special, radiant, and he could stand here all night just touching her, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair, learning what makes her tremble and shake and gasp.

Her hands come up to his wrists and then she’s tracing out _you, you, you_ up his left arm, her breasts rising and falling in his hands as she heaves out a breath. 

“Lydia,” he murmurs, his heart rattling painfully in his chest. “Did you… did you want to shower?”

She nods and leans forward, letting go of his arms to open the door to the bathroom and pull him inside. She turns and reaches past him to lock the bathroom door and then she’s pushing her suit down her hips to kick it off and Stiles stands there, immobile, watching her bend over so she can pick up the suit and hang it over a hook to dry.

“Um.” He shakes his head a little, too stunned for words by the sight of her naked body, fully healed and starting to look beautifully healthy - a flat stomach and round ass, lush thighs and delicate ankles, ten tiny perfect toes.

She smiles and reaches up to undo her bun, a riot of strawberry blond curls tumbling down her back as she shakes her hair out. 

“Uh, so,” he tries again. “Is casual nudity normal for mermaids? I guess I never thought about it before, but do you wear clothes? I mean, did you? When you were a mermaid.”

Her smile turns a little sharp and she closes the space between them, resting her fingers lightly on the hem of his swim trunks, and mouths, _no._

“Uh… I guess I should take these off,” he says stupidly. “Are we uh… you wanna shower together?”

She nods, giving him a straightforward look that makes him feel like she’s daring him a little. He swallows and tries to remember that he’s an adult, he’s showered with the opposite sex before, he’s slept with young women who’ve seen him naked and didn’t run away screaming, and he tries pathetically hard to act casual as he kicks off his swim trunks.

He crosses over to the shower to turn the water on and sticks one hand under the spray to make sure the temperature is right before gesturing for Lydia to get in. She steps under the spray and he follows her, closing the shower door and it’s just the two of them in the small space, rivulets of water sluicing down between her breasts as she tips her head back to wet her hair. She reaches out and rests her hands on his hips so she doesn’t slip when she slowly moves around him so he can stand under the showerhead.

Hot water pounds down over his shoulders as he stands facing her, his hands reaching out to stroke over her hair, her shoulders, her arms. She steps into his embrace and his hands slide around to her back as Lydia leans against him and rests her head on his chest. He’s vaguely aware that he’s hard between their bodies but then her mouth is gliding over his throat, his sternum, his navel.

“Lydia,” he grits out, watching her slide down his body until she’s kneeling in front of him. “Lydia, what are you doing?”

She looks up at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, her hair slicked back from her face. Her lips part as she sets her hands on his hips, drops of water beading on her eyelashes. 

“Lydia,” he groans. “You don’t have to - I mean, I’m definitely not complaining, it’s just, you know you don’t have to, you never have to - just tell me you want this. I mean, shit, please, Lydia, just, I need to know that you actually know what you’re doing, that you actually want to be doing this and not ‘cus you think it’s what I want or like, you have to do anything, I’d just be a really awful person if I let you do this when you can’t even tell me, like, with words, that this is something you want” -

She tightens her fingers around him and spells out _yes_ across his stomach - with her tongue.

“Oh god,” he groans. “Fuck. Okay. Just - only if you want to, okay?”

He should’ve known better, because then she’s licking _o_ and _k_ over his stomach and then the word _want_ and he’s done, he’s shaking all over and her hands are coming around to grip his glutes and then her mouth closes over him and it’s hot and wet and she flicks her tongue and Stiles gasps for breath, reaching down to sink his fingers into her wet hair.

The water rains down on them and he groans and shudders as she works him over with her mouth, licking and sucking until his knees go weak, lightning flying up his spine. She looks up at him then, lips wrapped around him, and everything goes fuzzy.

“Up, c’mere,” he gasps, reaching down to pull out of her mouth and help her stand as he fists himself. 

She looks at him with glazed eyes and then glances down where he’s working himself, her hands still gripping his ass and she’s soaking wet and her plush mouth and those legs and he wants her everywhere, wants his hands all over those legs as she comes around him -

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he hisses, and spills over his hand while Lydia watches like this is the most fascinating thing ever.

“Jesus,” he groans, and slumps sideways so he can rest his head against the coolness of the tiled wall.

She gives him a smug smile and rises up on her tiptoes to cup his face, looking so unbelievably proud of herself that he laughs and then kisses her until she’s plastered up against him, her hands gripping onto his shoulders so she doesn’t slip. He walks her backwards so she can lean against the wall and reaches down to pump liquid soap into his hands. She stands still as he sweeps his hands across her shoulders and down her chest, her body arching into his touch.

He runs his hands down her stomach and she makes what he’s started to think of as noise, even though it’s so soft he can barely hear it - a back of the throat guttural sound, like she’s trying to groan. He stops when he reaches her hips, palming the curve of her hipbones in his hands and stretching his fingers out. She’s watching him with bright eyes, he can feel the muscles in her abs jump under his touch as he stretches out his fingers. He rolls his thumbs into the creases of her hips and her mouth drops open, her stomach contracting like she’s been punched.

“Okay?” he whispers. He’s lost track of time, he knows they’re supposed to be getting ready for dinner but right now he’s alone with Lydia and she’s warm and wet and looking at him with big round eyes and he very slowly rubs his thumbs back and forth, watching her eyebrows pinch together.

She nods and pulls him to her, staring at him with that look he knows, the one where she’s discovering something new and she’s excited and wary and nervous all at once. It makes him think of Lydia standing on the edge of the bed that morning last week, before she could walk, how she was afraid and suspicious and in pain but still trusted him enough to carry her, and that means something to him, her faith in him, so he can’t screw things up, not with her, and definitely not with this.

He settles his hands around the curve of her hips and bends over her. “You still okay?”

He can see her throat work as she swallows and then she nods, looking very serious for some reason, and slowly leans into him until her head is resting against his chest, tucked under his chin and he didn’t know that caring about someone could hurt like this, that it can feel so fragile and meaningful and beautiful that it’s overwhelming.

He trails his fingers up to the curve of her waist and back down, tracing patterns over her skin, and Lydia clutches onto him and shivers and pushes her face into the nuke of his neck, her breath hot on his skin. He doesn’t know what to do so he just holds her, murmuring soft nonsense into the crown of her head to fill some of the silence, waiting for some kind of cue from her, for her to show him what she wants, but all she seems to want right now is this - their bodies pressed together, water raining down on them, and he wonders if being wet like this, the rushing sound of the shower, the weak simulation of being underwater, makes her feel more like her, the person she used to be, like if she closes her eyes and leans against him so she’s not holding all her weight on her legs she can almost imagine what it used to feel like.

Things seem melancholy suddenly, the way a dynamic can shift without reason, and he loosens his hold on her, because he needs to slow down, he needs to start moving again so he can’t think so much. 

“Here, turn around,” he coaxes, and Lydia startles a little, like she forgot what was happening, and then gives him a bashful little smile and spins around on the balls of her feet like a ballerina.

He washes her back and legs and they switch places, she rinses off the soap and washes her hair while he suds up, and then they switch again, a little careful dance in the shower that somehow works without anyone slipping or getting an elbow in the face. When they’re finished he turns the water off and gets out, passes her a towel and grabs one for himself.

She wraps it around herself and just like that, with her body drowning in a giant fluffy towel and her hair slicked back from her face, she reminds him of the girl he found on the beach, tiny and vulnerable. He knots the towel around his waist and stretches one arm out to wrap it around her shoulders, feeling so protective of her it’s a little overwhelming - he’s so used to being the fragile one, the one everyone else worries about and tries to protect.

But Lydia’s so tiny, and new at all this, and he feels the responsibility with a real solemn awareness, that she needs him to be good to her, that she’s depending on him, that without him she might never have woken up that night on the beach and it’s unbearable, the idea of something like that happening to her. Regardless of what happens between them she’s depending on him and that’s what matters, he absolutely can’t fuck that up.

Lydia glances up at him, looking a little bemused, like she’s wondering why he’s holding her in the middle of the bathroom dripping water all over the floor. He swallows down a lump of emotion and squeezes her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get dressed. Do you need clothes?”

She shakes her head and follows him back into his room, where Allison has laid a dress out for her across the foot of the bed. Stiles gets clean clothes for himself out of the drawer and pulls on a fresh pair of boxer briefs, jeans, and a pale blue shirt with a forest green pocket on the chest. When he turns around Lydia’s changed and he can’t remember how to breathe for a second, because the dress Allison has loaned her is made out of sheer lavender fabric that clings to her body as she reaches up to braid the front pieces of her damp hair away from her face.

When she notices him watching her she smiles and shakes her head, bumps her hips to one side and bends her arms Vanna White style, and does a slow spin. 

“You look beautiful,” he tells her, and she flushes a little like she’s pleased and holds her hand out to him.

When he takes it she threads their fingers together and leans in to rest the side of her head against his shoulder for a moment and it’s so small, just a flash of a few seconds in time, but it feels monumental - the heat of her hand in his, the way she tilts her face up to smile at him as she lets him lead her out of his room.

In the kitchen Allison is opening a bottle of red and Kira and Malia are carrying boxes of pizzas over to the island. “Hey!” Allison calls out. “You guys want wine?”

Lydia glances up at Stiles and mouths _wine?_

“It’s alcohol,” he tells her. “Like margaritas.”

Lydia’s face brightens and Stiles chokes back a laugh. “I think that’s a yes.”

“I’m in.” Danny brings a stack of plates over to the island. 

Allison pours glasses for them while Danny doles out pizza slices and passes out plates. They take everything over to the living room just as thunder crashes overhead, making Isaac jump a little and lean into Scott, who frowns and turns his head towards the sliding glass door to look outside, where the ocean is dark and capped by rough looking waves crashing over the sand.

“It’s raining _again?_ ” Malia groans. “Ugh.”

“I kind of like it.” Allison puts her plate down on the coffee table and walks over to the back door to slide it open a few inches. “Mm, I love how the air smells during a storm.”

Kira runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m gonna check the weather.” She turns the tv on and switches the channels until she gets to the local news. They all watch the picture on the screen of the swirling green and yellow mass moving east from over the ocean in their direction.

“Oh no,” Kira sighs. “A storm’s coming.”

Scott sighs and grabs Stiles’s elbow to pull him away from Lydia. “It’s the full moon tonight,” he whispers.

“Oh.” Stiles glances over at Lydia, who’s sitting on the couch next to Kira, listening raptly as Kira gives her a rudimentary explanation of how storms are tracked. “You think they’ll be okay?”

Scott nods. “Issac knows we haven’t told her.”

Stiles tilts his head over to where Malia’s leaning against the back door, her head tilted back a little, staring out at the dark sky. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

“It’ll be fine,” Scott reassures him. “Besides, she’s going to find out eventually anyway, right?”

Stiles takes a gulp of wine. “Yeah, I’m kinda dreading that one.”

“You think she’s gonna freak?”

“Uh, yeah Scott, I think any normal person might freak, and she’s not - oh my god, does she know what a wolf even is?” he whisper-hisses.

Scott tilts his head thoughtfully. “She’s seen Harry Potter.”

“That’s not exactly a shining example Scottie.”

“Yo, are you guys planning on joining us anytime soon?” Danny calls out. “Cus I’m feeling like a romantic comedy, thoughts?”

Malia groans. “Boring.”

Lydia looks over the back of the couch at Stiles and gives him an expectant smile with just the tiniest bit of an edge to it, the way a girlfriend might look at her boyfriend when he’s left her to fend for herself for too long at a party. He smiles back and then he kind of just forgets about everything he was so worried about because she softens and rests her cheek on the back of the couch, her dimples popping, and mouths _c’mere_ at him and he floats away from Scott and over to the couch to sit down next to her.

Malia and Danny finally agree on a movie as Scott and Allison sit down on Stiles’ other side; Malia and Isaac share the loveseat and Danny squishes in between Kira and the end of the couch. Lydia loves the pizza but she really loves the wine, when Allison refills their glasses Lydia beams at her and Danny laughs when he sits up to hold his glass over to Allison.

“We’re gonna be besties,” he declares, pointing at Lydia. “I can just tell.”

Lydia winks at him and sips her wine, snuggled under Stiles’ arm like she was made to fit right there. Lightning cracks across the room and Isaac gets up and quickly walks into the kitchen, raking one hand through his curls. Scott sighs and gets up to follow him, and then Allison goes too. Stiles clenches his jaw and looks outside but he can’t see the moon because of the storm. After a few minutes though they all come back, faces placid like everything’s fine, but instead of sitting with Malia again Isaac sits down on the floor in front of Allison, his head resting on her thigh.

Stiles elbows Scott and Scott shakes his head a little. Stiles can’t shake the edginess completely, even after he’s finished his second glass of wine. Lydia seems unbothered by the storm but that makes sense to him, there could be no escaping storms out in the ocean, it must be normal for her. But Scott, Malia and Isaac are all a little twitchy, and Stiles tries to limit the dog jokes but he can’t help but be reminded of that, how some animals can feel a storm in a heightened way, can sense it before it even hits.

When the movie’s over they switch to music, Kira and Malia make a playlist with Danny and hook Kira’s phone up to the speakers. Allison comes over with the bottle of wine and tops off everyone’s glasses before taking a sip from the bottle to finish it off. Next to Stiles on the couch Lydia’s flushed, sipping from her glass as she watches Kira and Malia push the coffee table to the side so they have more space to move around.

“Ooo, dance party?” Allison squeals. “Lydia, come on!”

Lydia finishes the last of her wine and puts down her glass, grabs Stiles by the wrists and pulls him up. “Oh, so we’re dancing, huh?” he asks.

Lydia grins and does a graceful little twirl, strawberry blond waves flying as she spins. Stiles bobs back and forth, buzzed from the wine, letting her whirl around him as the other girls cheer and sing along to the music. Allison drags Scott and Issac away from the couch and pretty soon they’re both dancing with her, the volume of the speakers turned up loud enough to block out the sound of the rain. Pretty soon it’s a full blown dance party; Lydia can’t sing along with them but she dances enthusiastically, swaying with Stiles to slower songs and shaking her hips and shoulders when they get fast and Allison must have showed her music videos he thinks, because she dances like she’s been doing it her whole life, a natural, moving perfectly along to the rhythm.

And maybe it’s because they’re all having a good time so of course it would fall apart, or maybe it’s because things seem normal which obviously never lasts long, or maybe the full moon on top of a storm is just too much, but when it does happen it happens so fast - Malia spins around Isaac, who grabs her wrist and uses the momentum to flip over, which makes her whoop like a wild animal, and Lydia stops dancing and turns her head just in time to see Malia dive over him and land in a crouch as Isaac growls, play fighting, Malia laughs and lets her eyes flash as she jumps and there’s a hint of claws as Isaac springs sideways and Scott growls at them in a tone too low to sound human and there’s the slightest flash of red eyes -

Lydia falls to the floor and takes Stiles down with her.

He’s so stunned from falling that it takes him a few seconds to figure out what just happened and then Lydia is scrambling over him, her face white, eyes wide in terror, as she mouths _monster!_

“Stop!” Stiles hears Scott roar, and distantly realizes that everyone is yelling at each other while Lydia opens her mouth wide like she’s trying to scream, her hands digging into his shirt as she pulls herself on top of him.

“Oh god,” Stiles groans. He manages to sit up and Lydia’s still grabbing at him like she’s trying to crawl inside his body and hide, her back heaving with silent sobs.

“Lydia, Lydia, hey, it’s okay.” He shifts her sideways in his lap and Lydia presses her face into the side of his neck, hot tears on his skin. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Everyone who isn’t me, Stiles or Allison, out!” Scott orders.

Stiles slides backwards with Lydia in his arms so he can lean against the couch. He watches Kira lead Malia out of the living room, Danny and Isaac trailing behind them. Isaac hesitates, so guilty looking he must reek of it to the other werewolves.

“Scott,” he whines softly.

“It’s okay,” Scott says evenly. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” Isaac replies glumly. “Sorry, Lydia.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Malia adds. “We were just messing around.”

Lydia doesn’t look up from where she’s got her face buried in Stiles’ neck, her whole body shaking as she cries, her hands fisted in his shirt.

“Come on, let’s give them some space,” Kira says gently, and she and Danny lead Isaac and Malia out of the room.

“Lydia. Hey, it’s okay.” Allison comes to sit down next to Stiles, her big eyes glassy. “Lydia, I swear, it’s okay, you can trust me. We’re friends, right? I promise, everything’s okay.”

Lydia lifts her head just enough to peek at Allison before looking up at him desperately and something in Stiles’ chest cracks wide open because she looks lost and confused and frightened, like the mute girl who woke up on the couch that first morning and cried over her legs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers fervently. “We were going to tell you, I swear, we just wanted you to have some time to adjust to being human before throwing more stuff at you but we were always going to tell you.”

Tears drip down Lydia’s face as she mouths _tell me what?_

Stiles glances over at Scott, who’s standing in the middle of the room watching them apprehensively. “You want to contribute anything here, buddy?”

Lydia glances back at Scott and flinches, diving forward into Stiles but Allison catches her by the arm and scoots closer so Lydia is almost sandwiched in between them. “No, wait Lydia. Don’t be afraid.”

Lydia’s bottom lip wobbles as she looks at Scott and mouths _monster_ again.

Scott’s face crumples up in hurt and Allison frowns. “No,” she says firmly. “He’s not a monster. None of them are but especially not Scott. Scott is good. Okay? He’s good.”

Lydia looks desperately between the three of them, the question obvious even if she can’t verbalize it: what is he?

Scott walks over and cautiously sits down next to Allison so they’re all sitting in a knot on the floor. “I’m a werewolf.”

Lydia, predictably, gapes at him for a good minute before turning back to Stiles and mouthing _what?_

Stiles sighs. “It means he can turn into a wolf, basically.”

Lydia’s eyes widen as she shifts in his lap, reaching up to rub away a few tears. She looks afraid but also a little curious as she leans her head back down into Stiles’ shoulder, glancing at Scott through her hair.

“It’s - I wasn’t always like this,” Scott says quietly. “I used to be human, like you are now. Like Stiles and Allison. I’d never hurt you, okay Lydia? I swear. You’re safe here, we would never, ever hurt you. I’m so sorry we scared you.”

Lydia shudders against Stiles’s chest and then she frowns and writes something into Allison’s hand.

“How?” Allison translates, and Lydia nods. “How did Scott become a werewolf? Is that what you meant?”

Lydia nods again, settling her weight back against Stiles. He loops his arms around her waist as she sniffs and gives Scott an expectant look. Scott wraps one arm around Allison’s shoulders and looks up at the ceiling for a second before letting out a low sigh and meeting Lydia’s gaze.

“Well,” he starts. “This one night in high school Stiles and I were out in the woods…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s me, the angst was going to sneak back in eventually.


	11. how to get over a human boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘the mermaids have no tears, and therefore they suffer more’  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

In the morning Lydia and Stiles are the last ones in the kitchen for breakfast. They laid awake in his bed for a long time last night, Lydia shivering in his arms while he’d apologized over and over for not telling her right away about the werewolf stuff and promising that she was safe, that no one was going to hurt her, whispered _sorry_ over and over until his voice had gone hoarse.

Everyone is sitting around the island, two empty stools to Allison’s right have been left empty for him and Lydia. Danny is opening up a new package of coffee creamer, Malia and Kira are passing out plates, Scott’s pouring coffee into mugs and Isaac is sticking a serving spoon into a bowl of cut fruit.

“Hey!” Allison greets them. “You guys are up!”

She jumps up from her stool and Lydia startles, yanking on Stiles’ hand as she stumbles back behind him like she’s trying to hide. Allison freezes, her lips pressing together, and blinks rapidly like she’s going to cry, like it really hurts her feelings that after over a week of investing her time into Lydia, braiding her hair and showing her movies and snuggling up with her on the beach, Lydia’s afraid to even be in the same room as her now.

“Lydia.” Stiles tugs lightly on her hand, trying to pull her next to him again. “It’s okay.”

Allison looks crestfallen. “We made pancakes. We put strawberries in them, I thought you’d like that.”

“That sounds great,” he says gently. “Right Lydia?”

When Stiles glances sideways at her Lydia’s jaw is set, her eyes narrowed, and his heart sinks. “Lydia,” he murmurs, and when her eyes flick up to him he tilts his head at Allison. “C’mon, it’s not her fault. It’s okay if you’re mad at me and Scott but don’t be mad at Allison.”

Lydia sighs loudly enough for everyone to hear but she lets go of his hand and slowly crosses the kitchen to stand in front of the empty stool next to Allison. Even though Lydia’s smaller and mute beyond the little sounds she’s sometimes capable of making she looks fierce, chin jutting out with pride as she levels a look at Allison, whose bottom lip trembles.

“Can I hug you?” Allison asks cautiously. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Lydia hesitates but then she nods and holds very still so Allison can put her arms around her. Lydia’s rigid at first, like she doesn’t want to give in right away, but then she softens and hugs Allison back, lets Allison stroke her hair and kiss her cheek before helping her up on a stool and passing her a mug of coffee. Lydia turns around and gives him that look, that _are you coming or what?_ look, and he rushes over to hop up onto the stool next to her.

“Thanks for making breakfast you guys,” he says, shooting for normal, reaching for the syrup so he can spread them over the three pancakes stacked on his plate.

“Sure,” Kira murmurs. “Strawberry’s your favorite, right Lydia?”

Lydia nods shyly and turns into Stiles, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug. The room is awkwardly quiet and too loud at the same time, the sound of forks clanking and spoons swirling creamer around and Stiles is so tense he realizes he’s maniacally tapping his fork against the side of his plate while Lydia leans her forehead against his shoulder and stares down at her mug.

“Maybe we should start over,” Scott says from the other end of the island. 

“What do you mean?” Allison asks softly.

Scott sighs and hops off his stool, walks around Allison so he’s facing Lydia but he gives her a lot of space and waits for her to spin around on her stool to start talking. “Hi Lydia. I’m Scott McCall. I used to be human and now I’m an Alpha werewolf” -

“A True Alpha!” Isaac interjects.

Scott sighs patiently. “We can explain what that means later. Basically Alpha means I’m in charge - like, in terms of hierarchy, technically anyway, we’re not exactly a traditional pack. Oh man, we haven’t explained that yet either, have we?”

“Maybe stick to the basics,” Stiles advises.

Scott rubs his eyes. “Okay. I’m a werewolf. This is my pack. We’re… I guess this still seems pretty scary to you but we’re the good guys. I swear, we don’t hurt people, we’re the ones who… anyway, yeah. We really are just here for summer vacation. When Stiles found you I guess it sort of felt like… I don’t know, fate I guess? As far as we know we’re the only pack around here, if a human had found you and called the police, or god, I don’t know, the coast guard or something, and they didn’t understand what they were dealing with…”

It makes Stiles nauseas, the idea of Lydia getting scooped up by the cops, Homeland Security, the FBI, living in a glass cage being examined by scientists.

“Anyway,” Scott continues. “We’ve um, kind of been through this before. Not with mermaids, but, the supernatural stuff is pretty normal for us. We just wanted to help you, honestly.”

“Adopting orphans is kind of their thing,” Malia adds. “It’s easier to just go with it, trust me.”

“The point is, you have a place with us,” Scott says. “If you want it. You don’t owe us anything, but we” - he glances quickly at Stiles, and then at Allison - “we all care about you. We like having you here. So if this is - if you’re too freaked out or you don’t feel safe here anymore, no hard feelings, I’d understand” -

Stiles watches, shocked, as Lydia slides off her stool and throws her arms around Scott. _Stay,_ she mouths, looking at Stiles, her eyes a little desperate. 

“She wants to stay,” he says softly, his heart beating so hard that it hurts. 

It hadn’t even occurred to him before Scott said it, that Lydia might not want to live with them anymore, wouldn’t want them anymore. The idea freaks him out so badly, her wandering around the human world on her own without them, this tiny mute girl who can’t defend herself, can’t communicate, trying to survive when she can’t even talk. 

Scott hugs Lydia back very gently, like he’s scared of spooking her with his strength, and Allison sniffs. “Come eat, you guys,” she coaxes.

Lydia gets back up on her stool and squeezes Allison’s arm. Scott kisses her cheek and sits down on Allison’s other side, and everyone lets out this big collective breath that makes Malia laugh and lean back on her stool.

“So are we good now?” she asks bluntly, pointing across the table at Lydia. “Are you gonna freak out around all of us?”

Lydia grips Stiles’ shirt, in the back where no one can see, and gives all of them an accusing look before pointing at Malia, and mouths _you,_ like she wants Malia to know that she hasn’t forgotten what she saw last night.

Malia leans back at an angle that would be dangerous if she didn’t have quick reflexes. “Did you guys break the whole thing down for her or just like, an overview? Does she even know about what we all are?”

“We sort of got lost on a Peter Hale tangent, and then a full moon tangent, and a shifting in general tangent.” Stiles points at Lydia. “Relatable, apparently.”

Malia shudders. “Was it weird growing legs? I mean, mine _change_ but they don’t like, split…”

Lydia cuts the word _hurt_ into the top pancake on her plate and spins it around to show Malia. Everyone goes quiet and watches but Lydia just shrugs and takes the syrup from where it’s sitting in the middle of the island next to a bowl of sliced pineapple and blueberries.

“Anything else you’d like to say about that while we’re on the subject?” Stiles asks her quietly.

She turns her head so fast he’s surprised she doesn’t give herself whiplash. She gives him this wide eyed freaked out look, like she might actually have to explain how this happened to her, and then she folds her arms over the table and drops her head into them.

“Well I guess that’s a no,” Stiles mutters.

Allison leans over Lydia and rubs in between her shoulder blades. “Was it scary?” she whispers. “Changing?”

Lydia nods into her arms. Allison sighs and rests her cheek on Lydia’s head for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

Lydia sighs and reaches back to pat the top of Allison’s head, and Allison catches her hand and squeezes it. After a few more seconds the girls sit up; Lydia surreptitiously wipe her eyes with the back of her hand and gives Stiles an exhausted kind of smile.

“We should do something fun today,” Allison says firmly. “Like, have a normal day out.”

“Boardwalk!” Malia shouts excitedly. “Boardwalk! Boardwalk!”

“We haven’t been yet,” Danny points out, nodding at Isaac.

“It’s usually a little crowded there,” Stiles muses, thinking about how tense Lydia was when they were in the restaurant the other night.

“Well, she’s human now, right?” Allison leans over Lydia to look at Stiles. “I’m not trying to be harsh but Stiles, come on, the human world is full of people so she’s going to have to get used to it. We can’t keep her in a bubble forever.”

“I know that,” he mutters. 

Lydia touches his wrist and when he looks down at her she gives him a sad kind of smile and mouths, _I’m okay._

“Yeah?”

She rubs her thumb back and forth across his wrist and nods.

“You sure?” he asks. “Allison’s right, it is a good idea to get comfortable being out in public but we can start slow, you don’t have to do something you’re not ready for.”

She gives him a look like he’s offered her a challenge and she’s not backing down, and then she mouths _go_.

“Okay.” A grin tugs at his lips. “Guess we’re doing the boardwalk today then.”

After breakfast they all take showers and change, Lydia gets dragged by Allison into the room Kira and Malia are sharing and comes out half an hour later with the top section of her hair braided back neatly, wearing a dark blue sundress printed with tiny white sailboats and a pair of sandals. 

“Hey.” Stiles offers her a smile from where he’s sitting with Scott, Danny, and Isaac on the couch. “You excited?”

She gives him a tight smile and leans a little against Allison, who’s wearing a cream and grey striped tank dress. Malia and Kira come out in neon colored bikini tops and denim cutoffs, Malia’s hair is pulled up in a messy bun and Kira’s still rubbing sunscreen into her arms.

“Hey Stiles, who are you taking?” Kira asks.

“Uh…” Stiles does quick math in his head. “We can each do four, I’ll take Lydia, Scott and Allison?”

Everyone agrees amicably and heads outside, Stiles helps Lydia into the passenger seat of his Jeep while Scott and Allison climb into the backseat, while the others wave and walk to Kira’s SUV. Stiles gets into the driver’s seat, buckles up and starts the engine, and waits for Kira to back out before following her down the driveway and turning onto the street. It’s a perfect summer day, sunny but not too hot, and with Lydia all dressed up next to him and Scott and Allison cuddling in the back it almost feels like a double date. 

The boardwalk is on a different stretch of the beach than Allison’s house, past the stretch of restaurants and coffee shops on the main drag. They sit behind a line of cars on the long paved road that leads to the main parking lot, traffic crawling to a standstill as each car gets checked for a parking pass before being moved along. Stiles has to drive through three aisles of parked cars before he finds an open spot to park the Jeep. Kira finds a spot a few spaces down and everyone meets up in between the cars, the air shimmering above the blacktop.

Malia and Kira lead the way, tugging Danny and Isaac along with them so they can show them everything. Malia plays the proud local, pointing gleefully at everything they pass: _This is the path we take to the boardwalk! That’s where Kira and I rented bikes the other week! Look, it’s right here! Where do you guys want to go first?_

Her childlike enthusiasm is infectious and Stiles looks at Lydia and back at Malia as they walk south, passing cotton candy stands and henna tattoo booths and taco trucks, considering the two very different girls.

He thinks about how Malia was when she was still adjusting to being human again, how she struggled for control, how she hated being told what to do but would begrudgingly do it, most of the time anyway. How she was blunt and strange and difficult but somehow found a way into their little pack and made a place for herself and now here she is, confidently leading them all along when all she used to want to do was run into the woods and hide.

It’s bolstering, the reminder that they got Malia through the worst of it and now she’s happy and adjusted. Last night was a setback, for sure, but he really can’t see how the whole werewolf reveal wouldn’t have been a shit show no matter how Lydia had found out. And at least she still seems to trust him, she doesn’t hate them all for lying. He remembers the first few days with her, that two steps forward, one step back feeling, that fear they were never going to get anywhere, make any progress at all. But now she’s walking and communicating, she smiles and laughs and no one passing them on the boardwalk would ever guess that she was ever anything other than human.

Lydia holds Stiles’ hand tightly as she looks around, taking everything in as they amble towards the restaurant Allison and Scott picked for lunch. She’s going a little slower than the rest of them, she still isn’t able to quite keep up yet, especially not with Malia setting the pace. Stiles hangs back with her, waits when she stops to check something out or read a sign or glance at a stranger passing by her.

She pauses in front of a small jewelry stand selling bracelets, little silver charms on thin leather cords scattered across a folding table covered with a brightly patterned blanket. He thinks about the first morning Lydia was with them, when she met Allison, the way she’d reached up to touch Allison’s necklace like it was a priceless treasure.

“Do you see anything you like?” he asks.

Lydia gives him a shy smile and points to a bracelet with an anchor charm centered in the middle, a tiny price sticker on it boasting _$8_. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and rifles through it until he comes up with a ten.

“This one please.” He points to the bracelet Lydia showed him and hands over the bill.

The older woman sitting in a chair behind the table gives him two dollars back and snips off the price tag before handing it to him. Lydia’s pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, staring down at the bracelet in his hand with huge eyes, like she can’t believe it was that easy, and Stiles makes a mental note to ask her if mermaids have currency or a trade based economy later.

“Do you want to wear it?” he asks.

She nods and holds her right arm out to him. Stiles carefully slides the bracelet over her hand and pulls on the strings of the cord until it’s fitted against her wrist. “Okay?” he asks.

She holds her wrist up to her face and rotates it a little so she can watch the anchor charm shine in the light and then she throws her arms around his neck, surprising him with a hug as she blinks teary eyes at him.

“Thank you,” she mouths, and kisses him, right there on the boardwalk.

He kisses her back, nerves singing with delight, that he can do this for her, make her happy like this with such a simple gesture. “You like it?”

_Yes_ , she mouths, and smiles like he’s bought her something seriously rare and expensive and not a cheap bracelet.

She reaches down to grab his hand and they rush a little to catch up with the others outside the restaurant. They go up the wooden stairs to the host stand and get seated at a huge round table with a big umbrella on the restaurant’s back deck, facing the water. Lydia sits between him and Allison, proudly showing off her bracelet to the other girl while everyone sits down. Allison leans behind Lydia give Stiles a thumbs up and he settles back in his chair feeling absurdly proud of himself.

Lydia bends over her laminated menu, lips pursed as she scans it. Their waitress appears with a round of waters and starts at the opposite end of the table, by the time she gets to Lydia and ask what she can get her Lydia points firmly at the menu to the salmon salad and the waitress smiles and moves onto Stiles. Lydia smirks a little, looking pleased with herself, flipping her hair off her shoulders while Stiles orders a burger with a side of fries.

“This is great,” Danny sighs, tipping back in his chair so he’s out of range of the umbrella’s shade. “We don’t get weather like this at school.”

Isaac hunches forward a little under the umbrella, probably to keep his pale skin from getting stuck in a cycle of becoming sunburned and healing over. “What are we doing after lunch?”

Kira and Malia chime in with a list of all the things to do at the boardwalk: hit the ice cream store, the arcade games, rent bikes, take pictures in the photo booth, get temporary tattoos, check out the food trucks, shop.

“And that’s all the non-water stuff,” Allison adds.

“You guys didn’t bring suits, though,” Kira points out. 

Allison shrugs. “Next time then. We can rent kayaks or something.”

Malia twists around in her chair to look out over the ocean. “I still want to rent jet skis this summer.”

“I think you need a boating license to drive one,” Kira muses.

“What do I have to do for that?” Malia asks.

“You’d have to pass a test,” Stiles tells her.

“Oh.” Malia’s face falls. “Never mind.”

“Hey, don’t give up so fast,” Kira says gently. “We can both take the test, if I pass and you don’t then I’ll drive and you can ride with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Malia agrees.

When their food comes everyone digs in, no one ate much at breakfast and they’re all starving. Lydia’s a lot more relaxed than this morning, she and Allison type little notes back and forth on Allison’s phone and she even steals a couple of Stiles’ fries, looking delighted when he catches her.

“Sneak,” he teases.

She raises an eyebrow and points to her bowl of greens topped with salmon and avocado slices, like _help yourself_ , and Stiles wrinkles his nose. “No thanks.”

When the check comes Allison and Kira decide to split it down the middle, putting down two credit cards for the waitress to run, and everyone else whips out their phones, opening various cash apps to pay them back. Lydia leans over Stiles’ shoulder to watch him transfer money for his and Lydia’s food to Allison, her mouth twisting a little to the side.

“Do you have a question?” he asks, wondering what’s so fascinating.

She taps her fingernails against the table, suddenly looking a little worried, and he wraps one arm around her shoulders as he leans a little closer to her. “Hey, what is it?”

She points to his phone and to the check, and then to her bracelet and back to him. Stiles rubs his forehead, trying to pick up the connecting thread. “Are you asking me about money?”

She nods, mouthing the word _money_ to herself.

“Oh. Do you… do you understand how money works?”

She rolls her eyes at him and he snorts. “Okay, sorry, dumb question. What are you asking me then?”

She fiddles with her bracelet and looks sideways at his phone. Stiles slides it to her and she pulls up his notes app and types something out with her thumbs: _I don’t have any money_.

“I know that,” he says softly as their waitress swings by to pick up their bill and run the credit cards.

She presses her lips together and types something else: _how are you paying for me?_

“Lydia,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Scott leans over Allison towards them. “Is everything okay?”

“Lydia’s just discovered that she’s completely financially dependent on us,” Stiles explains.

“Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism,” Allison says wryly, and pats Lydia’s arm. “Don’t worry about the money, okay? We can handle it.”

Lydia looks doubtful but she nods and leans back in her chair, the breeze making the ends of her hair flutter. Their waitress drops off receipts for Allison and Kira to sign and they all push away from the table and walk through the restaurant to go back out to the boardwalk.

Allison pushes her sunglasses up her nose and points south. “You guys wanna check out some stores and then maybe grab some ice cream?”

“Scott?” Stiles asks, because Scott’s been annoyingly strict about Lydia’s sugar intake.

“Fine,” Scott sighs. “Just don’t let her go too crazy, okay? Seriously Stiles, she could get sick.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “One ice cream cone isn’t gonna do anything, alcohol has sugar in it and she’s been fine.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “A glass of wine isn’t the same thing as an ice cream sundae.”

Lydia tugs on his arm and mouths, _ice cream?_

“It’s a dessert,” he explains. “You’ll love it, it’s sweet.”

Lydia mouths _okay_ and smiles, reaching down for his hand, and Stiles resigns himself to the fact that he’s just going to have to get used to this, how she can send him spinning with just a smile and the squeeze of her fingers. They all head down the boardwalk, Kira and Malia leading the way. The air smells like salt from the ocean and warm sugar from the funnel cake stand they pass as they walk vaguely in the direction of the ice cream shop.

Scott and Allison duck into a health food shop to pick up organic protein powder and Malia drags Kira to the flash tattoo stand across the boardwalk; Danny and Isaac get in line at a lemonade booth and Stiles and Lydia wait with them, standing a little to the side of the line, Lydia’s head leaning on his shoulder. 

Danny’s just paid for lemonade for him and Isaac when someone down the boardwalk calls his name, Isaac takes the lemonades from him as Danny pockets his wallet and waves to someone. They all follow Danny for a few paces to see who he’s waving to and then Lydia’s clutching his hand so hard it hurts and Stiles turns to her, confused, and realizes that she’s gone rigid, staring ahead at the guy approaching Danny, his perfect jaw and hair lightened a little from the sun.

“Yo, what’s up man?” Jackson Whittemore asks Danny, slapping his hand. “Hey Lahey, Stilinski.” He gives Lydia a once over and looks back at Stiles, smirking, and mouths, _nice_.

Stiles just stares at him, a cold rush of dread spreading over him as Lydia digs her nails into his wrist. Jackson doesn’t give Lydia a second glance, he’s chatting up Danny, asking about his lacrosse team at school while Isaac sucks on his lemonade looking bored. Next to him Lydia starts to shake and Stiles snaps out of his stupor, gets his hand out of her grasp so he can put his arm around her shoulders.

“We’re gonna go check out the beach,” Stiles announces, ignoring Isaac’s baffled look at the blatant lie, and drags Lydia down the boardwalk until he finds a little alcove with a drinking fountain and a bench for them to sit on.

She immediately crumples over, dropping her head into her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs. His stomach twists as he leans over her, one hand on her back, and fishes in his pocket for his phone.

“Lydia, hey,” he says quietly. “Here, please, just tell me what’s going on.”

He lays the phone in her lap and Lydia picks it up with trembling fingers, tears rolling down her cheeks. She taps something out on the screen and turns his phone so he can read it and his heart sinks at the words, at what they mean, his fear finally confirmed: _he didn’t even recognize me_.

“Jackson’s the guy you changed for,” he states, trying to keep the tone of his voice non-judgemental even though he feels sick saying it out loud.

She covers her mouth with one hand and types out something else with her thumb: _I want to go home_.

He doesn’t know if she’s talking about the ocean or the house but only one of those is an option for her now. “Okay,” he says. “C’mon, let’s go back. I’ll text Allison, she and Scott can get a ride with the others.”

Lydia pushes her sunglasses up into her hair to rub her eyes. They’re puffy and red, her perfect skin pale and covered with tear tracks and she looks so sad that he can’t even hold it against her, picking an epic douchebag like Jackson. It’s not her fault he’s a dick, she couldn't have even really known him back then, and Stiles wonders at it all over again, how it even happened, her and Jackson. Her bottom lip trembles and Stiles reaches out for her on instinct. She falls into him, pressing her tear stained face into the side of his neck, and he wraps his arms tightly around her, one of his hands cupping the back of her head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “C’mon, let’s go home, okay?”

She nods into his shoulder and Stiles helps her to her feet. He texts Allison a brief explanation of what happened and pockets his phone so he can hold Lydia’s hand. She’s so upset it’s like she’s forgotten how to walk, he has to practically drag her back down the boardwalk and onto the sandy road that takes them to the entrance of the parking lot. She stops crying by the time they make it to Jeep, she stares blankly out the window the whole way back to the house, her hand clenching his over the gear shift.

He parks in the empty driveway and turns off the engine, gets out of the car and jogs around to the passenger side to open Lydia’s door. She doesn’t respond, sitting very still in her seat, staring blankly past him and Stiles feels a flutter of panic in his chest. 

“Lydia, we’re here,” he says softly.

She lets him help her down from the Jeep, her body limp and cold. Stiles practically carries her up the walk to the front door, he lets them in and Lydia stumbles through the house to his room, yanking off Allison’s dress as she goes and kicks it off while he follows her, afraid to leave her alone.

“Lydia, what are you doing?” he asks, but she ignores him, picking up those black mesh shorts she’s been practically living in from the top of his dresser and yanking them on.

She grabs one of his old Beacon Hills LAX tee shirts, the burgundy letters worn and cracked, and doesn’t even ask before she yanks it over her head and wanders back out of his room, leaving him to follow her to the living room, where she climbs onto the couch and wriggles into the far corner, and bursts into tears again.

“Lydia,” he says helplessly, crawling up onto the couch next to her. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

She doesn’t shy away but she doesn’t lean towards him either, like she isn’t registering his presence. Her face is turned into a throw pillow and her arms are wrapped tightly around her bent legs, like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. He reaches out slowly to brush back her hair and she doesn’t look at him but she doesn’t flinch so he just sits like that, facing her, his toes brushing hers, and runs his fingers through her hair. They sit like that on the couch together for a long time, until his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out to read a text from Scott.

“The others are heading back,” he tells her.

She finally lifts her head and her beautiful face is a mess, Stiles reaches over her to snag a box of tissues from the nightstand and hands her one. She wipes under her eyes and blows her nose, balls the tissue up and tosses it into the wastebasket before resting her head against the back of the couch. Stiles cups her cheek with his hand and wipes away a tear she missed with his thumb.

“Can I get you anything?” he asks softly.

Lydia shrugs listlessly, her skin warm and damp under his palm.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “Or, text about it, I guess?”

She shuts down, lips pressing together as she shakes her head, dislodging his hand from his cheek. Stiles bites back frustration; this can’t be healthy for her, holding so much inside, but he’s also scared to keep pushing it. It feels too risky; he doesn’t know how much she can handle before breaking entirely and he couldn’t bear that, he won’t let it happen. 

They can hear the others when they come into the house, Lydia straighten up a little and runs a hand through her hair, looking exhausted and forlorn. Allison walks into the living room first, followed by Scott, Kira and Malia. Scott holds up a hand in greeting and drifts towards the kitchen, Danny and Isaac following him, kindly not gawking at Lydia on the couch.

Allison has a small cardboard take out container with a plastic lid clutched in her hands, she walks slowly toward the couch with a sympathetic smile, Kira and Malia flanking her on either side.

“Hey Lydia,” Allison says gently, sinking down on the edge of the couch. “We brought this back for you.”

Lydia manages to give the girls a wobbly smile as she pries off the lid of the container. She looks down at the contents and looks at Stiles, points down and mouths, _what?_

Stiles peers down, Scott must have decided to wave the low sugar rule in the light of the Jackson revelation; because they got Lydia two scoops of strawberry ice cream heaped with chocolate sauce and whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles.

“It’s an ice cream sundae,” he tells her.

“Ice cream doesn’t fix everything, but it’ll make you feel better, trust me,” Allison says.

Lydia mouths _thank you_ at Allison and starts crying again, dropping her forehead into the palm of her hand.

“Oh no, it’s okay, don’t cry!” Allison exclaims, wrapping Lydia up in a big hug. “Jackson’s a jerk, you deserve so much better.”

Stiles climbs off the couch, rescuing Lydia’s sundae where it’s tilting precariously in her lap and sets it on the coffee table. Kira and Malia jump onto the couch so they can get in on the hug and Stiles wanders over to the kitchen where Scott’s leaning against the island, watching all the girls fawn over a weeping Lydia.

“She’ll be okay,” Scott says quietly, reaching out to pat Stiles’ shoulder. “This is good, now we know at least.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, but he isn’t sure that he believes it.

“Hey.” Scott’s hand is a steady weight on his shoulder. “Stiles. Don’t worry too much about this, okay? She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” Scott says confidently. “She has you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go lovelies!


	12. where the people are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘She grew more and more fond of human beings, and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. ‘  
> \- _Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Mermaid_

After the day they run into Jackson at the boardwalk, something changes.

Lydia still sleeps in Stiles’ bed, she still sits next to him when they eat or watch movies, she even holds his hand when they’re out walking. But they don’t kiss anymore, they don’t stay up late at night making out or using his phone to talk, she doesn’t let him hug her for more than a few seconds before she pulls away.

He knows that it’s healthier for her to take a step back from him, that she’s processing whatever really happened with her and Jackson, learning how to be more emotionally independent but it still scrapes at him a little, that for a glorious short amount of time the two of them, were, well -

He guesses they never really lasted long enough to work out whatever it was they were. Now they’re clearly just friends, the boundaries as good as drawn the minute Jackson Whittemore looked at her and saw nothing beyond a hot girl willing to give Stiles a chance. Stiles supposes it’s a good thing, that Lydia blends in so well, with freshly styled hair and sunglasses and jewelry glinting at her wrist, but something about it has clearly shaken her to her core and every time one of them tries to bring it up with her she refuses to engage.

It makes him replay that night when he found her over and over again, going over every detail of his memory with a detective’s eye, trying to put the pieces together, like he’s trying to solve a crime - the origins of the abandoned mermaid on the beach. He builds up his mystery board in his head, attaching mental snapshots from that night: her naked body lying down in the sand, the scales covering the bottom half of her legs, the clumped, tangled mane of hair, the unbelievable amount of water that came out of her mouth, the bruises on her arms.

And wonders, like he has every day since he found her, how she ended up there, half-drowned, passed out on the sand in front of the Whittemore’s house like a dead body washed up on the beach.

*

“Yo,” Danny says to Stiles one day when they’re hanging out on the deck with Lydia. Down on the sand the others are playing beach volleyball but Lydia is still getting the hang of merely walking on an unstable surface so Stiles and Danny silently volunteered to keep her company. “Does she have an ID yet?”

Stiles rubs sweats out of his eyes. “No, why, you know someone?”

Danny grins. “Maybe.”

“It’s one thing to get her a fake, but she doesn’t have anything. I didn’t know where to get started, got any ideas?”

Danny tilts his head over to observe Lydia, who’s stretched out on her stomach reading a copy of The Great Gatsby that she found in the library. “Maybe.”

He disappears and comes back a minute later with his laptop. “We’re gonna need to get her a social.”

“Whoa, what? Danny.”

“Bro, we’re building an entire identity here, right? Yeah, she needs ID in case like, she gets carded or pulled over or something small but big picture here, she needs a lot more than a license. She needs proof of existence: school records, social media accounts” -

“Okay, can we start with the basics here? I don’t think she needs an Instagram account, she doesn’t even have a phone.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “Have you even thought about what you’re going to do when school starts again?”

“Dude!” Stiles hisses, horrified, but Lydia’s absorbed in her book, she isn’t paying them any attention.

Danny sighs, fingers moving rapidly across the keys. “Look, she’s here for keeps right? Human forever? She needs an actual identity man, you know that…. yes, that’s what I’m talking about, look at _that._ ”

Stiles can’t help himself, he’s curious. “What?”

“I searched for deceased girls named Lydia born in our year on the west coast and _bam!_ Got one from San Francisco, kidnapped from her high school winter formal by some psycho who murdered her. Rest in peace, Lydia Lorraine Martin.”

“Ugh.” Stiles leans forward towards Danny’s laptop. “Isn’t that identity theft?”

“I prefer to think of it as repurposing.”

“Danny.”

“What? She’s dead, she doesn’t need her social. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s fucked up,” Stiles mutters. “How she died.”

“Agreed.” Danny squints at the screen. “Alright, let’s talk about a plan. I know a guy who can make her a fake if I send him a picture, should we do that first? My DSLR is in my room, we could do it now. We really should actually, it usually takes him a few weeks.”

“Yeah, you’re right, she’s lucky she hasn’t been carded yet as it is.” He leans past Danny to pat Lydia’s shin. “Hey, come inside with us, Danny’s going to take a picture of you.”

Lydia slips a bookmark between the pages of Gatsby and mouths _why?_

“We’re going to have an identification card made for you. It’s something the government issues humans, you need to have one just in case. Danny’s gonna take your picture and then send it to the guy who’ll make it.”

Lydia nods like everything he said makes perfect sense even though he’s pretty sure she has no idea what an ID even is, but they’ve taken pictures on his phone together, she seems to grasp the general concept. She goes inside with Stiles and Danny and looks at Stiles expectantly, her fingers playing with the straps of her swimsuit.

“Go change into clothes,” he tells her. “Do you need Allison to help you?”

She smiles and shakes her head, and drops her book down on the coffee table before walking away. Danny sets his computer down next to it and glances at Stiles. “How’s that going?”

Stiles shrugs and stares down at the floor. It’s strange, to miss a person even though they’re still around. It’s just not the same though, this new invisible barrier between him and Lydia that he doesn’t know how to navigate.

“Aw man, hey, don’t look so bummed.” Danny pats his shoulder. “She still likes you best.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just saying, it sounds like maybe you guys got a little ahead of yourself initially? I mean, no judgement, if a super hot merman swam up right now and was into me I’d be all over that” -

“Danny.”

“She’s been through a lot, right? Then you factor in Jackson - who I’ve texted with like five times this summer and he never mentioned anything about any mermaid, by the way, and you’ve got a lot of shit to wade through. She probably just needs some time you know? And she knows you’re not going anywhere, so…”

“What do you mean?”

Danny laughs. “Dude, it’s pretty obvious you’re like, obsessed with her. You’re always like, right there.”

Stiles winces. “Is that bad? Am I supposed to be playing it cool? Cus I’m pretty sure I’m not capable of that at this point, hello.”

“No, no!” Danny says quickly. “I just meant… I think she knows that she can take the time to deal with this because you’ll still be here when she figures it out.”

“Figures what about?”

“How she really feels about you,” Danny says, like, _duh_. “Be right back, I’m gonna grab my camera.”

He leaves Stiles alone in the living room to contemplate all of _that_ , and comes back with his camera strap over his shoulder, Lydia following along behind him. She’s changed into a pale blue strappy sundress and her hair has been neatly braided. Danny looks around and poses Lydia against a white wall in the hallway that leads to the foyer.

She smiles brightly as Danny steps back and looks at the camera screen. “Ok girl, three, two, one.”

The camera flashes and the shutter clicks in rapid succession. Danny hits a button on his camera and passes it to Stiles so he can click through each frame. Lydia’s smiling brightly, looking young and beautiful and happy, just like a teenage girl might look after passing her driving test.

“Nice,” he comments, and hands the camera back.

“I’ll go send these.” Danny wanders back towards the living room, leaving Stiles alone with Lydia in the hallway.

 _Done?_ she mouths.

“Yeah, Danny got what he needed.”

She nods and reaches up to play with the end of her braid, her eyes darting between his face, the wall, their feet. Before he can even say something else he hears the sounds of the others coming in through the back door and Lydia flashes him a little smile and goes back into the living room, leaving him standing there, watching her braid swing between her shoulder blades as she walks away.

*

Stiles gets the idea when he’s swimming with Malia and Scott one afternoon while Allison takes Lydia to a salon for her first manicure. It’s a particularly calm day and Malia’s floating on her back, Scott brought a ball out and he and Stiles are standing on the sand bar tossing it back and forth. Stiles watches Malia float, her eyes closed against the warm afternoon sun, and then back at Scott, remembering their swim lessons at the public pool when they were kids, how much easier it is to learn in water that doesn’t have a tide, that can’t turn on you at any minute.

They go back in when he starts to get cold, when they’ve all showered they meet back up in the living room where Danny and Isaac are watching a baseball game and waiting to take a vote about what to do for dinner. Lydia and Allison come back while they’re ordering Mediterranean online, Allison has a few shopping bags slung over her arm and both of them are sporting pink painted nails patterned with microscopic pineapples and palm trees.

“Have fun?” Stiles asks Lydia when she jumps up onto the couch next to him.

She nods, grinning, and wiggles her fingers at him.

“Pretty,” he says, and her smile deepens. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something, do you know what a swimming pool is?”

She gives him a wary look and nods.

“I was just thinking, you know how we talked about teaching you to swim? It might be easier to learn in a pool, what do you think?”

She bites her lip and looks past him, out where the sun is starting to dip below the horizon.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I get why this might be scary for you, but you do really need to learn how to swim at some point, okay? We live right by the water, it’s a safety thing.”

She examines her new manicure, sighs, and mouths _okay._

He takes her to the public pool a few days later, armed with towels and a bottle of SPF80. He walks Lydia through the concept of a locker room and they split up, he rushes through changing and the obligatory shower before walking out and waiting for Lydia, who appears a minute later in her black swimsuit, her hair twisted into a bun on the top of her head.

They left the house right after breakfast so it isn’t too crowded yet, the only people in the water are a few older ladies doing laps and a mom pulling her toddlers around on a float, a lone teenage lifeguard looking blankly over the pool from under the brim of his red cap. Stiles spreads their towels over pool chairs and they slather themselves with sunscreen before approaching the shallow end of the pool. Lydia holds his hand as she eases down the steps and stands with the water up to her knees, reaching down with her free hand to swirl her fingers around in the water.

Stiles walks her down the pool slowly, until she’s balanced on the balls of her feet, the water up to her chest. “Do you want to try floating?” he asks. “Once you know that you won’t just sink it’s a lot less scary.”

She stares at the water and holds on tighter to his hand, looking like she has no idea what to do.

“Here, Lydia…” He pulls her hand up to his neck and she looks up at him, her eyes big and apprehensive and he thinks about her standing on the edge of his bed with bloody bandaged feet, looking like she was balanced on the edge of a cliff.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he reassures her. 

She softens against him and lets Stiles hook his arm under her knees to pick her up, her toes dangling in the water. “Okay, lean back,” he tells her. “My arms are under you, you can’t sink, okay?”

She unfolds her body very slowly, her hand holding onto his neck until she absolutely has to let go as she leans back. She straightens her legs and lets the back of her head dip into the water, looking up at him in amazement as she floats on the surface of the water, his hands spread out under her back.

“Cool, huh?” he comments, her body so light against his palms, her skin sparkling as the sunlight refracts against the water.

She gives him a smile, dimples showing, tilts her chin to the sky and lets her eyes shut. He spins her back and forth and Lydia squeals, letting her arms drift through the water, her body loose and relaxed. It overwhelms him, how much trust she’s showing him right now, and he thinks he could do this for the rest of the morning, but he came here to teach Lydia to swim, not make excuses to hold her.

He pulls her over to the side of the pool and has her grip the edge of the deck. “We’re gonna practice kicking,” he tells her, and stretches out next to her. “Like this.”

He demonstrates, slicing his legs back and up through the surface of the water. Lydia watches with a look of concentration, her legs pointed down toward the bottom of the pool. She tries to kick but she moves both legs together at once, her body undulating through the water, not generating enough power for her feet to break through the surface. She makes a frustrated noise and tries again but the same thing happens, her legs moving in tandem.

“Here, can I…?” Stiles lets go of the edge of the pool and walks back a few steps, the water lapping around his shoulders. He puts one hand under her left thigh and reaches back to grab her ankle. “Okay, try kicking just this leg, I’m gonna help you so can get the feel of it.”

When he feels her muscles engage he pushes her leg up, water splashing as her heel breaks through the surface. “Yes!” he shouts. “Just like that! Okay, now drop this leg and do the same thing with the other leg.”

He moves his hands away and Lydia lets her left leg drop and, after a moment where both legs are floating behind her, her right leg tentatively kicks back.

“Good, you’re getting it!” he exclaims. It never gets old, watching Lydia acquire a new human skill, attain a new level of independence. “Keep going!”

It takes a little while but she manages to get into a rhythm, _left, right, left, right_ , legs steadily kicking through the water. After a few minutes she stops and folds her arms against the surface of the pool deck so she can rest her check against one forearm.

“You tired already?” he teases, but then he notices the strain in her eyes, the tremors running through her body, and he remembers that she’s only had legs for a few weeks, is still developing muscles that grow fatigued easily, and he reaches for her on instinct. “Here, you wanna take a break and float again?”

She gives him a relieved smile and turns into him a little as he wraps his arms around her waist. She reaches up to hold onto his neck and Stiles pushes them away from the wall. She scrambles up his body, her legs wrapping around him before she seems to realize that he’s holding her and in the water like this she’s practically weightless. He feels it when she relaxes into him, her head coming down to rest on his shoulder as he carries her through the water.

She’s warm and soft in his arms, small and delicate and perfect and like this, floating through the pool, her fingers tracing random patterns over the back of his neck, he starts to feel that burst of hope again, like they’re going to be okay. 

*

The pack goes all out for the Fourth of July, as is tradition. They sleep in and do a late breakfast once everyone has wandered into the kitchen; Allison helps Kira make pancakes with blueberries and strawberries in them and they all eat out on the deck. It’s a perfect day, sunny and low eighties, after everyone’s had enough food and coffee they change into swimsuits and walk down to the beach. Danny and Scott decide to lead a group workout on the sand while Stiles and Lydia stretch out on towels and read books they picked out from the house’s library. Stiles begins Red Harvest and Lydia, who’s become somewhat of a reading fiend, finds the place she bookmarked in Little Women.

Everyone else does sprints between the shoreline and the deck while Stiles and Lydia read and generally ignore them as they run past, like parents on a family vacation trying to get a little peace and quiet while their kids play on the sand. 

They all go inside in the early afternoon to make lunch; Danny and Allison put together a big salad with chunks of tomato and cucumber in it while Scott pulls the leftover chicken they barbecued last night for dinner out of the fridge. Stiles sets up at the island with a loaf of multigrain, spreads avocado over two slices of bread, plates it and slides it down to Kira, who lays down a slice of Swiss and passes the plate to Scott, who adds chicken and hands it off to Isaac to carry out to the deck. It only takes a couple of minutes to make sandwiches for everyone and they all go back outside to eat.

Lydia’s so into her book that she reads through lunch, missing the rest of them talk logistics. On the fourth there’s a parade that goes right through the middle of town and all the way to the beach, a carnival set up on the sand by the boardwalk, and fireworks after the sun goes down.

“Let’s make dinner and pack it,” Allison suggests. “Anywhere we go we’ll have to wait in line forever, besides, we always end up eating our body weight in ice cream anyway.”

Lydia’s head snaps up when Allison says _ice cream_ and Stiles laughs into his fist. “Does that sound good?” he asks her.

Lydia gives him a guilty smile like she knows she’s been caught not paying attention, and hopefully mouths _ice cream?_

“Yeah, we can get ice cream,” he tells her. “It’s gonna be a little crazier than usual at the boardwalk because today’s a holiday, okay?”

 _Okay_ , she mouths, and goes back to her book.

When they’ve all finished eating they go inside to shower and change. Lydia disappears down the hallway with Allison so Stiles takes a quick shower, runs a little gel through his hair and puts on jeans and a red tee shirt. He makes sure he has his phone and wallet before heading to the kitchen to figure out what they can put together to take to the beach for dinner. He finds Issac watching YouTube videos at the island with Scott and enlists them to help him take stock of the fridge, digging through shelves to evaluate the contents.

“We have enough avocados for guac I think,” Scott suggests.

Stiles snorts. “Are you volunteering to make it?”

“I’ll help him,” Issac jumps in, like he’s defending Scott’s honor.

Stiles shrugs. “Okay. What else we got in there?”

Issac leans forward. “Swiss, ham, mustard” -

“Done.” Stiles takes each package as Issac hands them back to him. “Ham and cheese sandwiches it is.”

Scott takes Kira’s keys and runs out to the driveway to get a cooler out of her trunk and bring it back to the kitchen. Scott and Issac make a huge batch of guacamole in a big plastic bowl and Scott snaps a lid over it before putting it into the cooler and helping Stiles make sandwiches for everyone. Issac gets a big reusable tote bag from the hall closet and stuffs it with bags of tortilla chips and a Tupperware container of baby carrots. 

They’re packing up the sandwiches when everyone else comes into the kitchen dressed to go out. Danny’s wearing hideous board shorts that boast the pattern of the American flag with a white tee shirt, Malia’s in her favorite pair of worn denim cutoffs and a blue tank top, Kira and Allison are both wearing casual tee shirt dresses, Kira’s is red and Allison’s is striped with navy and white, and Lydia -

Lydia is wearing a dress he’s never seen before, light blue and soft looking, printed with tiny white stars, straps that criss cross over her back, a skirt that floats around her knees. Allison’s sunglasses are pushed back into her curled hair and she has a glittery American flag temporary tattoo on one cheek.

Stiles steps back from the cooler, hyper aware of the avocado smear over the back of his hand and the tiny hole in the shoulder seam of his tee shirt. “We made dinner,” he says, like an idiot. “Obviously.”

“Help me get the waters from the mud room?” Allison asks, sparing him from the further hell of standing awkwardly and staring at Lydia like a lovestruck moron.

He helps Allison pack a cooler full of water bottles and they carry everything outside and load up the trunk of Kira’s car. After a quick debate they decide it's worth squishing all together in Kira’s car because it’s hard enough to get a parking spot at the beach on the Fourth of July as it is, let alone finding two.

Kira turns the car on and gets the air conditioning running while they figure out the logistics of fitting eight people into an SUV meant to sit five, six in a pinch. Danny sits up front with Malia in his lap, Scott sits in back behind Kira, Allison and Issac somehow manage to mostly fit their skinny ass bodies into the middle seat without crushing everyone, and Lydia decides she’s sitting on Stiles’ lap because apparently one of her favorite things to do is torture him.

Okay, she probably just wants the privilege of looking out the window. Whatever. It’s still torture.

At the entrance to the beach Kira idles behind a minivan, taking her foot off the brake every few minutes to roll a few feet forward before stopping again. It takes them a full twenty minutes to make it to the parking lot and Kira drives up and down rows of cars until she finds an available spot to squeeze into.

They all pile out of the car after she parks it; Kira pops the trunk, Scott and Issac grab the cooler full of food, Malia grabs the second cooler filled with drinks, and Allison pulls the big beach blanket out from under the backseat. The parking lot is packed with people heading to the beach and Lydia looks around nervously, her sunglasses over her eyes, lips pressed together.

“Hey.” Stiles leans behind Kira to pat Lydia’s shoulder. “It’s okay, he's not here.”

Danny volunteered to digitally stalk Jackson for the rest of the summer and according to his Instagram account Jackson’s currently throwing a blowout at his parents empty house in Beacon Hills. It’s a minor relief but it does make Stiles wonder if this is going to be a thing for the rest of the summer, it makes him want to put Lydia on a plane and take her right back to school with him where she’d be safe from the ghost of her heartbreak.

And then Stiles thinks about it, the idea of a mermaid on an airplane, and he has to swallow down a ridiculous wave of hysteria, one of those how-the-fuck-is-this-my-life moments he gets occasionally.

Lydia weaves behind Kira and to his surprise she brushes his fingers, even though she still isn’t looking at him. It reminds him of the way she acted the first few days she was with them, those mixed signals she used to give, reaching out for comfort and then shutting down and pulling away.

“Hey,” he says, sliding his fingers in hers so they’re holding hands. “What’s up?”

She doesn’t say anything but she adjusts her grip on his hand and dutifully follows Allison when she takes Lydia’s other hand and pulls her along with the rest of the group. By the time they make it down to the beach she’s relaxed a little, insulated in the middle of their group as they stake out a space on the sand to claim for the night. Malia runs ahead and finds a good spot close to the water for Alison to spread out the blanket and they all follow her; they use the coolers to pin down the edges of the blanket when Allison spreads it out on the sand before sitting down and really taking their environment in.

All around them the beach is a flurry of activity - little kids running in every direction, teenage girls strutting around in tiny bikinis, college guys drinking bottles of beer, adults playing frisbee and beach volleyball and barbecuing. Lydia stares at everything, her hand still clutching Stiles’ as she takes in the chaos around them. He can see the peak of a bouncy house castle down the beach, hear the distant music from the parade on the other end of the boardwalk. He wonders what it’s like for Lydia, who’s used to observing this all alone in the ocean, how it feels to finally be here, in the middle of it, where all the people are, actually get to participate in the human world instead of being a solitary observer.

It’s late in the afternoon, they have hours to fill before the fireworks start. They decide to use the blanket as home base and split into two groups: Kira, Malia, Isaac and Scott join in on a volleyball game with some guys wearing USC tees, and the rest of them walk down the beach where the carnival is set up, different booths and tents in shiny jewel tones gleaming in the sunlight. They pass arcade games, face painting stands, vendors selling glow sticks and popsicles and hot dogs. Danny has his camera, he takes video of Allison playing an arcade games, Lydia bobbing her head to the music blasting from a street performer’s speaker box while Stiles watches her dance, hips swaying back and forth, her curls shimming red and gold in the afternoon sun.

They’re almost at the end of the carnival when Stiles sees it - a sign, in big purple bubble letters surrounded by arrows pointing to a pen built on the sand, just high enough that he can’t see over it, and the words make his heart clench in his chest - _Come Visit The Mermaid!_

Before he can pull her away Lydia sees the sign and she goes rigid, her sandals scuffing against the ground as she whips around to shoot him a confused look, one eyebrow shooting up.

“It’s not real,” he says quickly, dragging her to the side of the boardwalk before she can get run over by the hoards of kids dashing around them. “People don’t know about mermaids - hell, we didn't either, before you. It’s probably just a girl in a seashell bikini.”

She presses her lips together and then stomps off towards the entrance to the pen, pulling on his hand.

“Uh, Lydia, are you sure you wanna see this?” he asks, waving frantically at Allison and Danny to follow them.

She walks through the entrance and stumbles back against Stiles; he catches her by the shoulders and steps them both to the side to make room for Allison and Danny, peering around Lydia to see the exhibit. It’s a teenage girl in a kiddie pool, the water maybe two feet deep at best, wearing a mesh green sequined ‘tail’ over her legs and a neon pink bikini top. Her hair has been done in braids woven with seashell beads and her eyelids are covered in glittery silver eyeshadow that swirls down her cheekbones. She’s floating on her back, cooing and smiling, tossing her braids, pulling herself to the edge of the pool to smile and take photos with children for ten dollars a pop.

“Lydia,” Allison murmurs, reaching out for her hand. “Are you okay?”

Lydia startles and Stiles holds her a little tighter, watching her watch the ‘mermaid’ flaunt her tail, her perfect tan, her big shiny smile, because this is just a game to her, an easy summer job, that girl has no idea that she’s a caricature, a poor imitation of the real thing. 

“Lydia,” Allison says again. “C’mon, let’s go.”

When Lydia doesn’t respond Stiles manages to spin her around, she stares down at her shaking hands and doesn’t look at him. He puts one arm around her shoulders, squeezes a little. “They don’t know it’s real,” he reminds her. 

Her mouth twists to the side but she nods and reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Hey,” Allison says brightly. “How about some ice cream?”

Lydia nods again, her morose expression lifting a little, but she still turns back to watch the girl on the pool for a moment as they walk away.

She cheers up by the time they get to the ice cream shop. The bells above the door jangle as Danny holds it open for them, a blast of frigid air conditioning hitting Stiles as soon as he walks inside. They line up at the counter, peering down at the tubs of different flavors. Lydia tugs on his sleeve and points at the strawberry, then a waffle cone.

“Got it,” he assures her, and when they get to the front of the line he gets Lydia a double scoop of strawberry and a cone of rocky road for himself.

Allison and Danny get ice cream cones for themselves and Allison buys an entire container of chocolate and vanilla swirled with peanut butter and fudge to take back for the others. “Told you,” she says grinning, grabbing a stack of napkins and a handful of plastic spoons. “We may as well have not bothered bringing dinner at all.”

“Hey, Scott’s very proud of the guacamole he made so you better eat it,” Stiles tells her.

“Speaking of Scott, between him and Isaac they can eat our combined body weight in food so I really wouldn’t worry about it,” Danny comments, and sighs enviously. “I’d kill for their metabolism.”

“But they can’t get drunk,” Allison chimes in. “I’d say we got the better end of that deal in that respect.”

“Hmm.” Danny tilts his head, contemplating. “Which do I love more, getting wasted on margaritas or eating chocolate cake whenever I want?”

“If loving both is wrong then I don’t want to be right,” Stiles declares.

Next to him Lydia ignores their banter, delighting in her ice cream cone. He can’t even really look at her as they walk because it’s too much, her tongue flicking out to lick up drops of ice cream before they melt and roll down the sides of the cone. It’s too easy, to remember what that tongue tastes like, feels like, against his own.

When they make it back to their beach blanket Scott and Isaac are sitting on one end of it stretching, their shirts off and crumpled over Allison’s bag. If Stiles squints he can just make out Malia and Kira chatting with some of the guys they were playing volleyball with over by the pier, the sun a fiery blaze at the edge of the water.

Lydia sits cross legged on the blanket, ice cream cone held in one hand. She leans against Stiles and after a moment he puts one arm around her, watching the sun slowly dip past the horizon as it sets. He holds his ice cream out to Lydia and she gives him a questioning look.

“What to try?” he offers.

She sits up a little straighter and holds out her cone to him. They switch and he takes a lick of strawberry ice cream, watching Lydia’s tongue take a swipe at his rocky road. She tilts her head and then nods, like she’s deemed it satisfactory, before taking her cone back and handing his to him.

“You like?” he asks.

She smiles, a drop of ice cream clinging to her bottom lip.

“Here, you have…” he leans over and Lydia holds very still as he runs his thumb along her bottom lip.

He freezes for a moment and then he thinks, _don’t be an idiot_ , and wipes his thumb off on a napkin instead of licking the ice cream off it. Lydia’s still right there though, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do but then she wedges herself against his side and tilts her head so it’s resting on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to say anything to make her pull away so he just sits there and eats the rest of his ice cream, relishing the warmth of her body against his, her soft skin, the way she sucks every last drop of her ice cream off of the cone before eating it.

Malia and Kira come back to the blanket an hour later when Scott and Isaac start opening up the coolers to pass out sandwiches, the sky a velvety midnight blue above them. Allison scoops a tortilla chip through the guacamole, winks at Stiles as she chew it up and declares it the best guacamole she’s ever had, and she must not be lying because Scott grins bashfully and gives the credit to Isaac for helping him.

After they’ve all eaten sandwiches and helped Allison finish off the guacamole they open the container of ice cream Allison bought and pass out spoons. They sit in a big circle with the container in the middle, like they’re on a camp out sitting around a fire, taking turns scooping out bites of ice cream.

Lydia only takes a few spoonfuls before she quits but everyone else does a good amount of damage, by the time they finish they’re all on a bit of a sugar high. Down the beach the carnival is getting taken taken down, families with kids in tow flooding the sand looking for open spaces to spread out their blankets before the fireworks start.

Scott checks the time on his phone and passes out earplugs to everyone with supernatural hearing, and after hesitating for a second, gives Stiles a pair while glancing at Lydia. 

“Hey, have you seen fireworks before?” he asks her. “From in the water?”

Lydia’s sunglasses are pushed up into her hair again now that it’s getting dark out and as she nods, locks of hair fly around her face. She curls her hands into fists before shooting her fingers out, and mouths _boom!_

“Yeah, they’re loud.” He wonders what it would be like to see them from her perspective, out in the middle of the ocean, alone. If it would be terrifying, the sudden sound of explosions and flashing lights with no logical explanation, sizzling ash floating down from the sky. He hopes it wasn’t like that for her, hopes that every summer she was out there it was beautiful, like experiencing a waterfall or a sunset, colorful and awe inspiring.

A few minutes later there’s a sound like a shot and Stiles watches the first firework shoot up into the sky and explode in a daze of sparkling red lights. Lydia tenses at the sizzling sound it makes as the embers fall to the water and Stiles pulls her in front of him on instinct so he can loop his arms around her and hold her close.

She relaxes back against his chest and it makes that little hopeful part of him stretch and expand. Maybe it’s just him, or the lights, or that magical feeling you get on a holiday, but things between them right now feel more like _them_ than they have in awhile, and that’s enough to make him feel good, that Lydia wants to be here, sitting between his legs, her hands coming up to curl around his forearms, her head resting back on his shoulder.

When he looks down at her she’s staring up at the sky, awestruck, eyes wide and he can see the reflection of lights exploding in her pupils, stars twinkling in her green irises, and she must sense him watching because she tilts her head back a little so she’s looking up at him instead of the sky, and like this the tips of their noses are almost touching and they’re breathing the same air and her lips are so close to his and she looks so trusting, so soft, so stunning, that Stiles just stares, lost in her.

Lydia smiles, and mouths _Hey_ , colors exploding over their heads.

 _Hey,_ he mouths back, because she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the fireworks anyway.

She winks and snuggles back against him, and turns her head back to the sky. He tightens his arms around her and kisses the side of her head. He can tell by the curve of her cheek that she’s smiling and he leans his head against hers for a moment, just so stupidly enamored with her, still, and it’s dark and no one is looking at them and maybe that’s why she does it, turns her head to the side and kisses him right over the hollow of his throat and it’s only because of the fireworks that no one hears the ridiculous little noise he makes.

He wonders if she can feel the pounding of his heart through her back, his pulse under her fingertips. Wonders if she knows that under his bravado he’s just a bundle of nerves and bones, a brain that runs a little too fast and a heart that yearns for more than he really dares to dream for. Just another weak human boy in awe of her beauty, her grace, her fortitude.

He sits through the rest of the fireworks in a daze, every spot on his skin where her fingers touch burning up. The show ends in a blaze of sound and color, twinkling lines of light soaring from the sky down to the water, the district acrid scent of gunpowder. They all watch lines of smoke streak across the sky as the last of the lights blaze out and fall over the ocean as everyone around them starts to clap. When Stiles glances down at Lydia she’s looking out over the dark water, foam capped waves crashing against the sand.

They all get up so Allison can shake out the beach blanket; Scott and Isaac each grab a cooler and pack it up. Around them parents are wrangling their little kids and folding up their chairs; groups of teenagers are walking up to the boardwalk, still in just their bathing suits and sandals. It’s so crowded it’s almost a full body crush, Lydia clutches onto his arm as they all start heading back with the rest of the group to walk up to the boardwalk.

Stiles’ phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes around with his free hand to grab it and check the screen before answering. “Hey Dad.”

“Stiles… you… okay?”

“Hey Dad hang on, I can’t hear you, give me a minute.” Stiles takes the phone away from his ear and glances back at Scott. “Hey, I’m gonna try and find a spot where I can hear him, meet you at the entrance to the street?”

“Sounds good,” Scott agrees.

Stiles looks sideways at Lydia, who’s still hanging onto his arm. “Hey, I’m gonna try to find somewhere to talk to my dad for a few minutes, do you want to come with me or are you okay to stick with the group and I’ll meet you?”

She glances back at Allison, who offers her hand, and after a moment Lydia takes it, and mouths, _go_ at him.

“Yeah?”

She gives him a gentle smile and mouths _I’m okay_ , and after a moment Stiles forces himself to smile back and walk away, he jogs over to a stretch of boardwalk that isn’t totally packed with people lugging blankets and tote bags and strollers and drops onto a bench. 

“Hey, Dad, can you hear me?”

“Hey bud.”

“Hey, Happy Forth.”

“You too.”

“So what’s up?”

“What, can’t a father call his son to say hi?”

“Uh huh…”

“How’s your new friend doing?”

Stiles groans. “So you talked to Melissa.”

“Oh please, I talked to Melissa weeks ago. You couldn’t have mentioned that you found a mermaid?”

“She’s - she’s just a girl, now.”

“Right.” A long pause. “So how’s that going?”

Stiles bounces his leg up and down restlessly. There’s a weird tugging sensation in his chest, like his body doesn’t appreciate being this far away from Lydia, like they’re tethered to each other. “It’s going.”

His dad snorts. “Are you being purposefully vague?”

“Sorry. It’s - I don’t know, it’s up and down. It’s… she’s adjusting.”

“Mhmm. And have you thought about what you’re going to do when it’s time to go back to school?”

“That’s almost two months away.”

“You still need a plan, Stiles.”

“I know,” he mutters. “I… I could always” -

“No,” his dad cuts in sharply. “You better not say what I think you were about to say.”

Stiles swallows a lump of emotion at the idea of living across the country from Lydia. “Dad, she… she needs me right now.”

He can hear his dad suck in a breath. “I don’t give a damn how much she needs you, you aren’t sacrificing your education for a goddamn mermaid” -

“She’s a girl! A human young woman! It’s…it’s complicated, okay?”

“Okay,” his dad says patiently. “I can… understand how you might have… developed certain feelings” -

“ _Dad._ Oh my god are you trying to give me a stroke?”

“No Stiles, I’m trying to have a mature adult conversation with my son, who just suggesting taking a break from school to hang out with some girl he’s known for barely a month.”

“Okay, I can admit that it sounds crazy when you put it like that but I… look, it’s the first week of July. Do you think this could be like, an ongoing conversation as opposed to something I have to decide right this second?”

“I suppose that sounds reasonable.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I still want to meet her.”

“Dad.”

“What? I’ve never met a former mermaid before, I’m curious.”

He laughs. “Okay Dad. Hey, I should go, the others are waiting.”

“Okay. Love you kid, get home safe.”

“I will. Love you too.”

“I’m serious about dinner, okay?”

“I hope you understand you’ll be eating a salad.”

His dad mock groans into the phone. “You wound me.”

“Just trying to keep you alive.” He means it in jest but it doesn’t come out sounding that way and he weirdly thinks of Scott, obsessively keeping track of every single food Lydia put into her mouth that first week, his paranoia that she’d have an allergic reaction.

Because that’s just what you do when you feel responsible for someone, when you care for them.

“I know,” his dad says gently. “Say hi to the gang for me. Maybe I’ll bring Mel up next week for dinner?”

“Sounds good Dad.”

“Okay. Have a good night, kid.”

“You too.” Stiles hangs up and spins his phone around in his palm before pocketing it and heading down the boardwalk towards the road that leads to the parking lot.

He thought the rest of the group would have beaten him there but when he gets to the end of the boardwalk it’s just a surge of people he doesn’t know trudging to their cars. He turns around, thinking of walking back to where they split up when his dad called him, but then he sees Scott pushing through the crowd, the rest of the pack right behind him, and it takes Stiles a second to figure out what’s wrong and then he’s shoving against the crowd to reach his friends, the pull in his chest turning into a vice.

“Where is she?” he shouts.

“Stiles…” Scott reaches for him and Stiles flinches back.

“Scott, where the fuck is Lydia?!”

“She was right behind me,” Allison says tightly, her jaw set. “I swear Stiles, we just realized she was gone like two minutes ago, we’re gonna split up and look for her, okay? She can’t have gone far.”

“She can’t _talk!”_ he yells. “She doesn’t have ID, she doesn’t have a phone, oh god, oh my god” -

“Hey, hey, Stiles.” Scott grabs his arm and holds on tight. “I know you’re scared but you can’t freak out right now, Lydia needs you.”

“Scott,” Isaac says.

“It’s going to be okay,” Scott keeps going, ignoring Isaac. “We’ll split into groups and search the whole beach if we have to, we’ll find her” -

“Scott!” Issac says again.

“What?” Scott exclaims.

“Listen!”

Scott gives Isaac a wary look but he tilts his head and lets his eyes drift half shut before they fly open as he looks at Isaac. “Holy shit!”

“You heard it?” Isaac asks urgently.

“What?” Stiles looks between them. “What’d you hear?”

Scott’s eyes are big and round as he turns his head to scan the beach. “Someone out there is saying your name.”

Stiles gapes at him. “What?”

“Hang on.” Malia closes her eyes and screws up her face before looking at Stiles. “I hear it too. It - it sounds like a girl.”

“But - but Lydia can’t talk,” Stiles says.

“Maybe she found someone to help her look for you?” Allison suggests.

Scott and Stiles stare at each other, and then they’re both running headfirst into the crowd, behind him Stiles can hear Allison about, “Go, we’ll stay here in case she comes this way!”

Scott and Stiles shove past people trying to get off the beach, muttering _excuse us, excuse us_ , stopping every few feet so Scott can listen and pull them in the right direction.

“Call out for her,” Scott suggests, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I’m losing her in all the other noise.”

Stiles cups his hand over his mouth. “Lydia!” he shouts. “Lydia! Lydia!”

Scott yanks on his arm. “Got it. This way, c’mon!” 

They take off running across the beach, trying not to push people, and then they break through the crowd and Scott tugs on his arm as they skid to a stop because -

Lydia’s standing on the sand down the beach from them, near the water, people giving her a wide berth as they walk past her with worried, judgemental eyes, because she’s screaming _Stiles! Stiles!_ at the top of her lungs.

She’s screaming. For him.

He breaks away from Scott and takes off running down the beach, sand flying up under his feet like the night he found her, racing towards a washed up body, and then she must hear him yelling his name because her head snaps around and then she’s running towards him and he’s so surprised that he stops to watch her, because he’s never seen Lydia try to do anything beyond take slow, careful steps or dance for a few minutes at a time but now she’s _running_ , arms pumping as she dashes across the sand, still screaming his name, and then he can see it, her legs starting to give out, and he starts to run again, trying to catch up to her before she can fall.

She collapses onto the sand, landing on her hands and knees, sobbing, and Stiles does a full slide across the sand to meet her on his knees. He hovers over her, reaching out to pull her up so she’s sitting back on her heels, and tears are streaming down her cheeks as he brings his hands to her face, staring at her in wonder.

“Lydia, how - how are you - what happened??”

“I - I don’t know,” she chokes out, and her voice is thin and ragged and full of tears and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “I was right behind Allison, I only let go of her hand because I saw, these kids had some sticks and they were _glowing_ , and I just wanted to look at them for a second, but there are so many people here and then I couldn’t see Allison anymore so I started walking but I went the wrong way and I was so scared, I was so scared Stiles, and it was like there was something in my chest and it was pulling and I couldn’t think straight and then - and then I just started screaming.”

“Lydia.” He runs his thumbs under her eyes, wiping up tears, his heart fluttering in his chest, the pressure in his lungs finally dissipating.

“Yeah?”

He just stares at her awestruck, and then they’re leaning into each other and kissing like they’re drowning, gasping for air as they press their lips together. He pulls away and she’s still crying, looking at him with big round eyes and he still can’t believe it, that she can talk, that somehow some part of her figured it out. 

He uses his hands to wipe most of the tears off her face, cradling her jaw in his palms. “Lydia, I think you broke the spell.”

She stares at him with red and glassy eyes, her cheeks wet and flushed. “What?”

It still shocks him, to have her answer him in words. “You’re talking,” he points out. “Lydia, you were screaming your head off, Scott could hear you all the way back up on the boardwalk.”

“Really?” She looks up for the first time at Scott, who’s hovering just behind Stiles, and gives him a watery smile. “Hey Scott.”

Scott holds his hands out to them and helps Stiles pull her up. “Hi Lydia.”

Lydia stands between the two of them, her legs coated in sand, still crying a little. “I… don’t know how I did it. I… this wasn’t… I didn’t know if I’d ever get my voice back. I let - I let her take it. For the spell. It was...payment, I guess.”

“The witch?” Scott asks gently. 

“That’s okay,” Stiles tells her, thinking about Scott in high school, becoming a true alpha all on his own, defying logic. “We’ll figure it out, okay? The important thing is you can talk, that’s amazing!”

Lydia looks at him and then she’s laughing and crying at the same time, looping her arms around Stiles’ waist as she looks up at him. “Hi.”

He laughs and leans down to rest his forehead against hers. “Hi.”

She gives him a fragile smile. “I can talk.”

“Yeah, you can.”

He shakes his head a little. “Goddamn,” he whispers, and cups her cheek as he bends down to kiss her. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs against her lips.

“I don’t know how I did it,” she whispers back.

“Guys, c’mon.” Scott puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “Everyone’s waiting for us.”

They walk up the sand, Lydia’s hand held tightly in Stiles’, her legs still shaking from her run across the beach. The crowd is starting to thin out, he can see Issac and Allison standing at the edge of the boardwalk with the rest of the group waiting behind them. When she sees them Allison jogs down onto the sand and throws her arms around Lydia, their curls tangling together.

“I’m so sorry!” Allison apologizes frantically. “I thought you were right behind me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize we got split up, are you okay?”

Lydia pats Allison’s shoulder as she pulls out of the hug. “I’m okay Allison.”

Allison stares at her, her eyes going big and round. “What - you can talk?!”

“Yeah,” Lydia says tearfully. “I guess I can now.”

“Oh my _god!_ ” Allison shrieks at the top of her lungs and picks Lydia up like she’s a quarterback who’s just thrown a winning pass. “You did it! You did it! You guys, she can talk, she’s talking!”

The rest of the pack surrounds them, yelling and cheering and shouting out questions no one has the answers to, until eventually Scott gets them to calm down enough to start walking down the road to the car, Lydia in the middle of the group as they all spitball theories about how she broke the spell all by herself, with only her own willpower. 

She sits in Stiles’ lap for the ride home again but this time her arms are wrapped around him, her head resting on his chest as they look out the window, street lights flicking past, a crescent moon hanging in the sky. Allison’s so excited she’s practically bouncing in her seat next to them while Scott texts with Deaton. When they get back to the house Kira parks in the driveway and they all go inside, everyone still hyped and jumping around, asking Lydia silly questions just to hear her answer in her own voice.

They spill into the living room, Lydia looking a little overwhelmed at everyone’s excitement. Stiles glances out at the beach and back down at her. “Hey, you want to go for a walk? Just us?”

She nods, looking a little relieved, and then a few seconds later she says, “Yeah,” like she has to remember that she can actually communicate with her voice now. “Can I…” She trails off for a second. “Sorry. I’m not used to talking, it’s strange. I’m a little cold, can I…”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on.” He retrieves his red hoodie from where it’s draped over the back of the loveseat and Lydia gives him a grateful little smile as she slips her arms through it

They go out the back door and take the steps down to the sand, their fingers woven together. He steers her gently in the opposite direction of Jackson’s house, heading north, the ocean to his left. Lydia looks out over the water as they walk and Stiles has so many questions, so many things he wants to ask her but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her so he holds her hand and keeps his pace slow to match hers and waits for her, and it only takes a few minutes for her to start talking, her voice a little rusty.

“I don’t know how long I was out there by myself,” Lydia says softly. “We don’t keep track of time like humans do.” 

Stiles runs his thumb along the back of her hand and waits for her to continue, and after a moment she lets out a long breath and glances sideways at him. “I first saw him a few years ago. Jackson.”

His stomach clenches but he forces himself to nod. “Okay.”

“He was on a boat,” she continues. “Boats were… I knew to stay away from boats. Especially bigger ones, but it was… I don’t know the word… it wasn’t a ship, I don’t think, but it didn’t have a sail, people take them out and drop anchor and then they go back after a few hours.”

“A yacht maybe,” Stiles suggests, trying to remember if the Whittmores own their own boat.

“I used to watch him. I… I would watch anyone I could, but I always had to be so careful, we were never supposed to go up to the surface, it’s dangerous.”

“We… you had sisters, right?” he asks gently. 

She flinches a little but nods. “Older one. They left before me.”

He looks out over the water. “Where did they go?”

“It isn’t like it is here. You - there are people everyone. It’s not like that, for us. Maybe it was hundreds of years ago, but…. we aren’t as… I don’t know what the word is. We don’t live all…” She squeezes her hands together, and Stiles wonders if the word she’s searching for is _domesticated_. “We trade but we don’t have money,” she continues. “We don’t have…” She looks frustrated. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He squeezes her hand. “You’re doing really good. A few hours ago you couldn’t even talk and now you’re… you’re doing amazing.”

She blinks and looks away. “I’m just trying to explain. Why I did what I did.”

“You mean why you chose Jackson.”

Her mouth twists to one side. “It didn’t feel like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a choice.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

She tugs on his hand to get him to stop walking. “Stiles. I was out there, for years. Alone. Mermaids… we aren’t social to the degree that humans are but we were always supposed to be. I’ve heard stories of cities in the middle of the ocean, did you know that? Crystal palaces guarded by armies of mermen. Libraries of mermaid lore. Seahorse racing. Things you wouldn’t even be able to imagine. But it wasn’t like that for me.”

“Lydia… I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.

“I’m trying to tell you that I couldn’t live out there by myself anymore and not go crazy. Jackson was - he was _right there_. He seemed like he was my age. He always had friends with him, he… I wanted that. I wanted to be there, with them. I would swim out where I knew they would bring the boat and just wait to try and see him, because by then anything was better than being alone.”

Her face crumples up, her hand clenching around his. “I couldn’t be alone anymore Stiles. I couldn’t do it.”

“Hey, hey, okay. It’s okay, I get it.” He cups his free hand around the back of her neck and she drops her head to his shoulder for a moment before pulling away and tugging gently on his hand to start walking again.

“Everyone knew about her,” Lydia says, sounding a bit disdainful. “The witch. She was easy to find. I know what I did - what I agreed to” -

“What was your deal with her, exactly?” he interrupts. “Sorry, I’ve just been wondering.”

“She’s a witch, Stiles. She sold me a magic potion that would change me into a human. And the price was my voice. Well, not the price, that’s not accurate. She called it a sacrifice. To prove my willingness to be human. She said.. if I was lucky and fell in love with the right boy, maybe it would come back one day.”

Stiles‘ heart leaps at the implication but he tries to focus. “So you… let her take your voice? Like, that was part of the spell?”

“Everything has a cost,” she says a little sharply. “I was desperate. I didn’t care. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t be what I was anymore. I would’ve done anything, by then.”

“To be with Jackson?”

“To be a human. I went to Jackson because he was the only person I knew existed.”

“Wait.” Stiles gives her a shocked look. “You weren’t in love with Jackson?”

“I was probably in love with the idea of him,” she says carefully. “He was beautiful. Happy. I let myself think about what it would be like. To be human like him. Get to be a part of that. And I… I was so lonely Stiles. I’d never had a boy hold me or kiss me or tell me they love me and mermen, they’re dying out, we all are, if I stayed in the ocean I was never going to have anything. I wanted more than that.”

“So what happened?” he asks, bracing himself for the answer. “With you and him?”

She hunches forward a little, huddling inside his sweatshirt. “I swam near where I knew his house was and I took the potion after the sun went down. I had been ... watching him, at night sometimes. He used to run on the beach after it got dark. So I waited until I thought I had the time right and took it and…”

When Stiles looks down at her, her eyes are shut. “Hey,” he murmurs, stepping in front of her. “Lydia?”

She blinks rapidly and looks out over the water. “I knew it would hurt but… it was more than I expected. I had legs but I couldn’t walk on them. The first time Jackson ever saw me I was dragging myself out of the water. I was naked, well… you know. You know what I looked like. He saw me and thought I was a monster.” She blinks tears out of her eyes. “Like when I saw what Scott was for the first time. He was just - afraid. Of me. And I couldn’t speak, I - I tried to reach for him but he, he pushed me away and ran inside, and I was just… everything hurt and I didn’t know what to do. I tried going back in the ocean but I forgot I couldn’t breathe underwater and I didn’t know how to swim without my tail. I got dragged under a wave and then the next thing I knew I was lying there on the sand, and it felt like a sword was going through my legs and I was choking on water, and I looked up at the stars and I thought…” Lydia’s voice catches. “I thought, seriously, my only thought was, you’re so stupid. You’re _so_ stupid. Nobody is coming to save you. Look at you out here, all alone. Dying for nothing.”

Tears run down her face. “And then you saved me.”

He cups her cheeks, catching her tears with his thumbs. “Lydia.”

“You saved me,” she chokes out.

“Lydia…” It might actually kill him to say this but he doesn’t have a choice, if he doesn’t say it now he’ll never forgive himself. “You’re not… beholden to me. You don’t owe me, okay?”

“I know that,” she sniffs. 

“Okay.” His hands are still on her cheeks, her skin hot against his palms.

She blinks at him, her tears running over his fingers. “Stiles, when I say that… I wasn’t just talking about that night.”

“Lydia,” he murmurs.

“I understood everything you and Scott said that morning, when your doctor came to examine me. You had a choice. You could’ve told him to take me with him but you didn’t. You - you kept me. You, and Scott and Allison, and, and all of you. You…” Her bottom lip trembles

“Lydia,” he grits out, his throat a little tight. “Letting someone take you away is never a choice I’d be willing to make.”

She gives him a watery smile. “Allison told me about this thing people say, once. It’s an...idiom, I think? Finders keepers.”

“Yeah?”

She reaches up and loops her arms around his neck. “You found me,” she says. “So…”

He knows they have a lot ahead of them - the rest of the summer, school, fully integrating her into society. There’s plenty of question marks in their future, so many unknowns, but something he’s never had to question is the way he feels about her. “Does that mean I get to keep you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, and even after crying for an hour she’s still ridiculously beautiful. “I think that’s what it means.”

“Is that what you want?” he asks seriously.

She narrows her eyes at him. “You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”

He gives her his best innocent look. “Huh?”

Her expressions softens. “I like you,” she says softly. “Not just because you saved me, or because you were just there.” She wrinkles her nose. “That doctor guy totally make me seem boy crazy.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“I kind of am, though,” she says. “For you,” and then he kisses her because he doesn’t have any words that can top what she just said.

Lydia kisses him back and lets out a long sigh, and rests her head on his shoulder.

“Are you getting tired?” Stiles asks. “You want to start heading back?”

“Yeah,” Lydia says, and reaches down to take his hand. “Let’s go home.”

They walk back to the house together, her palm warm against his, ocean waves gently crashing onto the shore behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read, gave kudos, and left comments! Your support means the world to me. 💜


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